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« Thus goes the empire down-the people shout 
And perish. From the vanishing wreck, I save 
One frail memorial." 


VOL. I. 






Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1835, 

by Harper & Brotheks, 

in the Clerk's office of the Southern District of New- York- 

L&nxy, Univ. of 




This Romance, meant to illustrate a period of time, 
and portion of history, in a region, for which neither, 
of us can feel other than a warm attachment, is affec- 
tionately inscribed, in proof of the esteem for his high 
character, and the regard for his approved friendship, 
entertained by 


Summercille, South Carolina, 



I have entitled this story a romance, and no* 
novel — the reader will permit me to insist upon the 
distinction. I am unwilling that " The Yemassle" 
should be examined by any other than those standards 
which have governed me in its composition ; and un- 
less the critic is willing to adopt with me, those leading 
principles, in accordance with which the materials of 
my book have been selected, the less we have to say 
to one another the better. 

Supported by the authority of common sense and 
justice, not to speak of Pope — 

"In every work regard the writer's end, 
Since none can compass more than they intend" — 

I have surely a right to insist upon this particular. 
It is only when an author departs from his own stand- 
ards, that he offends against propriety and deserves 
punishment. Reviewing " Atalantis," a fairy tale, full 
of machinery, and without a purpose save the imbodi- 
ment to the mind's eye of some of those 

" Gay creatures of the element, 
That in the colours of the rainbow live, 
And play i' the plighted clouds" — 

a distinguished writer of this country gravely re- 
marks, in a leading periodical, — "Magic is now beyond 


the credulity of iigiA years" — and yet, the author set 
out to make a slorv of the supernatural, and never 
contemplated, for a moment, the deception of any good 
citizen ! 

The question briefly is, what are the standards of 
the modern romance — what is the modern romance 
itself? The reply is instant. Modern romance is 
the substitute which the people of to-day offer for the 
ancient epic. Its standards are the same. The reader, 
who, reading Ivanhoe, keeps Fielding and Richardson 
beside him, will be at fault in every step of his prog- 
ress. The domestic novel of those writers, confined 
to the felicitous narration of common and daily occur- 
ring events, is altogether a different sort of composi- 
tion ; and if such a reader happens to pin his faith, in 
a strange simplicity and singleness of spirit, to such 
writers alone, the works of Maturin, of Scott, of Bul- 
wer, and the rest, are only ,so much incoherent non- 

The modern romance is a poem in every sense of 
the word. It is only with those who insist upon 
poetry as rhyme, and rhyme as poetry, that the iden- 
tity fails to be perceptib..t!. Its standards are precisely 
those of the epic. It invests individuals with an ab- 
sorbing interest — it hunies them through crowding 
events in a narrow space of time — it requires the same 
unities of plan, of purpose, and harmony of parts, and 
it seeks for its adventures among the wild and wonder- 
ful. It does not insist upon what is known, or even 
what is probabhe. It gitsps at the possible ; and, 
[dacing a human agent in hitherto untried situations, 
it exercises its ii genuity in extricating him from them, 
while describing his feelings and his fortunes in their 


progress. The task has been well or ill done, in pro- 
portion to the degree of ingenuity and knowledge which 
the romancer exhibits in carrying out the details, ac- 
cording to such proprieties as are called for by the 
circumstances of the story. These proprieties are the 
standards set up at his starting, and to which he is re- 
quired religiously to confine himself. 

The Yemassee is proposed as an American ro- 
mance. It is so styled, as much of the material could 
have been furnished by no other country. Something 
too much of extravagance — so some may think, — even 
beyond the usual license of fiction — may enter into 
certain parts of the narrative. On this subject, it is 
enough for me to say, that the popular faith yields 
abundant authority for the wildest of its incidents. 
The natural romance of our country has been my ob- 
ject, and I have not dared beyond it. For the rest — 
for the general peculiarities of the Indians, in their un- 
degraded condition — my authorities are numerous in 
all the writers who have written from their own expe- 
rience. My chief difficulty, I may add, has arisen 
rather from the discrimination necessary in picking and 
choosing, than from any deficiency of the material 
itself. It is needless to add that the leading events 
are strictly true, and that the outline is to be found in 
the several histories devoted to the region of country 
in which the scene is laid. A slight anachronism 
occurs in the first volume, but it has little bearing upon 
the story, and is altogether unimportant. 

New-York, April 3, 1835. 




The sudden call for a second edition of •' Th^ 
Yf-massee," so soon after the first, renders it impossible 
for the author to effect more than a very few of the many 
corrections which he had meditated in the work. The 
first edition was a remarkably large one — twenty-five 
hundred copies— twice the number usually put forth, in 
this country, of similar European publications. This 
fact, so highly encouraging to native endeavour, is pecu- 
liarly so to him, as it imbodies an independently-formed 
opinion of his countrymen ; which has not, in his case, 
lingered in waiting for that customary guidance of foreign 
judgment, which has been so frequently urged, as its 
weakness, against the character of native criticism. 
New-York, April 23d, 1835. 



4 A scatter'd race — a wild, unfetter'd tribe, 
That in the forests dwell — that send no ships 
For commerce on the waters — rear no walls 
To shelter from the storm, or shield from strife 
And leave behind, in memory of their name, 
No monument, save in the dim, deep woods, 
That daily perish as their lords have done 
Beneath the keen stroke of the pioneer. 
Let us look back upon their forest homes, 
As, in that earlier time, when first their foes, 
The pale-faced, from the distant nations came, 
They dotted the green banks of winding streams 

There is a small section of country now comprised 
within the limits of Beaufort District, in the State of 
South Carolina, which, to this day, goes by the name 
of Indian Land. The authorities are numerous which 
show this district, running along, as it does, and on its 
southern side bounded by, the Atlantic Ocean, to have 
been the very first in North America, distinguished by 
an European settlement. The design is attributed to 
the celebrated Coligni, Admiral of France,* who, in the 

* Dr. Melligan, one of the historians of South Carolina, says far- 
ther, that a French settlement, under the same auspices, was actually 
made at Charleston, and that the country received the name of La 
Caroline, in honour of Charles IX. This is not so plausible, however, 
for as the settlement was made by Huguenots, and under the auspices 
of Coligni, it savours of extravagant courtesy to suppose that they 
would pay so high a compliment to one of the most bitter enemies 
of that religious toleration, in pursuit of which they deserted their 
country. Charleston took its name from Charles II., the reigning 
English monarch at the time. Its earliest designation was Oyster 
Point town, from the marine formation of its soil. Dr. Hewatt — 
another of the early historians of Carolina, who possessed many ad- 
vantages in his work not common to other writers, having been a 
careful gatherer of local and miscellaneous history — places the first 
settlement of Jasper de Coligni, under the conduct of Jean Ribaud, at 
the mouth of a rirer called Albemarle, which, strangely enough, the 


reign of Charles IX., conceived the project with the ul- 
terior view of securing a sanctuary for the Huguenots, 
when they should be compelled, as he foresaw they 
soon would, by the anti-religious persecutions of the 
time, to fly from their native into foreign regions. This 
settlement, however, proved unsuccessful ; and the 
events which history records of the subsequent efforts 
of the French to establish colonies in the same neigh- 
bourhood, while of unquestionable authority, have all 
the air and appearance of the most delightful romance. 

It was not till an hundred years after, that the same 
spot was temporarily settled by the English under 
Sayle, who became the first governor, as he was the 
first permanent founder of the settlement. The situa- 
tion was exposed, however, to the incursions of the 
Spaniards, who, in the meanwhile, had possessed them- 
selves of Florida, and who, for a long time after, contin- 
ued to harass and prevent colonization in this quarter. 
But perseverance at length triumphed over all these 
difficulties, and though Sayle, for fartner security in the 
infancy of his settlement, had removed to the banks of 
the Ashley, other adventurers, by little and little, con- 
trived to occupy the ground he had left, and in the year 
1700, the birth of a white native child is recorded. 

From the earliest period of our acquaintance with 
the country of which we speak, it was in the posses- 
sion of a powerful and gallant race, and their tributary 
tribes, known by the general name of the Yemassees. 
Not so numerous, perhaps, as many of the neighbour- 
ing nations, they nevertheless commanded the respect- 
ful consideration of all. In valour they made up for 
any deficiencies of number, and proved themselves not 
&my sufficiently strong to hold out defiance ~.o invasion, 

narration finds in Florida. Here Ribaud is said to ha* e. buiit & :<>.-*; 
and by him the country was called Carolina. May river, another 
alleged place of original location for this colony, has been some- 
times identified with the St. John's and other waters of Florida or 
Virginia ; but opinion in Carolina settles down in favour of a stream 
still bearing that name, and in Beaufort District, not far from the sub- 
sequent permanent settlement. Old ruins, evidently French in their 
origin, still exist in the neighbourhood. 


but actually in most case's to move first in the assault. 
Their readiness for the field was one of their chief 
securities against attack ; and their forward valour, 
elastic temper, and excellent skill in the rude condition 
of their warfare, enabled them to subject to their domin- 
ion most of the tribes around them, many of which 
were equally numerous with their own. Like the 
Romans, in this way they strengthened their own 
powers by a wise incorporation of the conquered with 
the conquerors ; and, under the several names of 
Huspahs, Coosaws, Combahees, Stonoees, and Sewees, 
the greater strength of the Yemassees contrived to 
command so many dependants, prompted by their move- 
ments, and almost entirely under their dictation. Thus 
strengthened, the recognition of their power extended 
into the remote interior, and they formed one of the 
twenty-eight aboriginal nations among which, at its 
first settlement by the English, the province of Caro- 
lina was divided. 

A feeble colony of adventurers from a distant world 
had taken up its abode alongside of them. The weak- 
nesses of the intruder were, at first, his only but suffi- 
cient protection with the unsophisticated savage. The 
white man had his lands assigned him, and he trenched 
his furrows to receive the grain on the banks of 
Indian waters. The wild man looked on the humilia- 
ting labour, wondering as he did so, but without fear, 
and never dreaming for a moment of his own approach- 
ing subjection. Meanwhile the adventurers grew daily 
more numerous, foi their friends and relatives soon 
followed them over the ocean. They too had lands 
assigned them, in turn, by the improvident savage ; and 
increasing intimacies, with uninterrupted security, day 
by day, won the former still more deeply into the 
bosom of the forests, and more immediately in con- 
nexion with their wild possessors ; until, at length, 
we behold the log-house of the white man, rising up 
amid the thinned clump of woodland foliage, within 
hailing distance of the squat, clay hovel of the savage. 
Sometimes their smokes even united ; and now and 


then the two, the "European and his dusky guide," 
might be seen, pursuing, side by side and with the 
same dog, upon the cold track of the affrighted deer or 
the yet more timorous turkey. 

Let us go back an hundred years, and more vividly 
recall this picture. In 1715, the Yemassees were in 
all their glory. They were politic and brave — their 
sway was unquestioned, and even with the Europeans, 
then grown equal to their own defence along the coast, 
they were ranked as allies rather than auxiliaries. 
As such they had taken up arms with the Carolinians 
against the Spaniards, who, from St. Augustine, perpet- 
ually harassed the settlements. Until this period they 
had never been troubled by that worst tyranny of all, 
the consciousness of their inferiority to a power of 
which they were now beginning to grow jealous. 
Lord Craven, the governor and palatine of Carolina, 
had done much in a little time, by the success of his 
arms over the neighbouring tribes, and the admirable 
policy which distinguished his government, to impress 
this feeling of suspicion upon the minds of the Ye- 
massees. Their aid had ceased to be necessary to 
the Carolinians. They were no longer sought or 
solicited. The presents became fewer, the borderers 
grew bolder and more incursive, and new territory, 
daily acquired by the colonists in some way or other, 
drove them back for hunting-grounds upon the waters of 
the Edistoh and Isundiga.* Their chiefs began to show 
signs of discontent, if not of disaffection, and the great 
mass of their people assumed a sullenness of habit 
and demeanour, which had never marked their conduct 
heretofore. They looked, with a feeling of aversion 
which as yet they vainly laboured to conceal, upon the 
approach of the white man on every side. The thick 
groves disappeared, the clear skies grew turbid with 
the dense smokes rolling up in solid masses from the 
burning herbage. Hamlets grew into existence, as it 
were by magic, under their very eyes and in sight 01 

* Such is the beautiful name by which the Yemassees knew the 
Savannah river. 


their own towns, for the shelter of a different people ; 
and at length, a common sentiment, not yet imbodied 
perhaps by its open expression, prompted the Ye- 
massees in a desire to arrest the progress of a race 
with which they could never hope to acquire any real 
or lasting affinity. Another and a stronger ground for 
jealous dislike, arose necessarily in their minds with 
the gradual approach of that consciousness of their in- 
feriority which, while the colony was dependant and 
weak, they had not so readily perceived. But when 
they saw with what facility the new comers could con- 
vert even the elements not less than themselves into 
slaves and agents, under the guidance of the strong 
will and the overseeing judgment, the gloom of their 
habit swelled into ferocity, and their minds were busied 
with those subtle schemes and stratagems with which,, 
in his nakedness, the savage usually seeks to neutral-. 
ize the superiority of European armour. 

The Carolinians were now in possession of the- 
entire sea-coast, with a trifling exception, which forms 
the Atlantic boundary of Beaufort and Charleston 
districts. They had but few, and those small and scat- 
tered, interior settlements. A few miles from the sea- 
shore, and the Indian lands generally girdled them in, 
still in the possession as in the right of the aborigines. 
But few treaties had yet been effected for the pur- 
chase of territory fairly out of sight of the sea ; those 
tracts only excepted which formed the borders of such 
rivers, as, emptying into the ocean <ind navigable to 
small vessels, afforded a ready chance of escape to 
the coast in the event of any sudden necessity. In 
this way, the whites had settled along the banks of 
the Combahee, the Coosaw, the Pocota-ligo, and other 
contiguous rivers ; dwelling generally in small commu- 
nities of five, seven, or ten families ; seldom of more, 
and these taking care that the distance should be slfght 
between them. Sometimes, indeed, an individual ad- 
venturer more fearless than the rest, drove his stakes, 
and took up his lone abode, or with a single family, in 
6ome boundless contiguity of eh«de, ^evsral miles from 
I. 2 


lis own people, and over against his roving neighbour ; 
oursuing in many cases the same errant life, adopting 
many of his savage habits, and this too, without risking 
much, if any thing, in the general opinion. For a long 
season, so pacific had been the temper of the Yemas- 
sees towards the Carolinians, that the latter had finally 
become regardless of that necessary caution which 
bolts a door and keeps a watch-dog. 

On the waters of the Pocota-ligo,* or Little Wood 
river, this was more particularly the habit of the set- 
tlement. This is a small stream, about twenty-five 
miles long, which empties itself into, and forms one of 
the tributaries of, that singular estuary called Broad 
river ; and thus, in common with a dozen other streams of 
similar «ize, contributes to the formation of the beauti- 
ful harbour of Beaufort, which, with a happy propriety, 
the French denominated Port Royal. Leaving the yet 
small but improving village of the Carolinians at Beau- 
fort, we ascend the Pocota-ligo, and still, at intervals, 
their dwellings present themselves to our eye occa- 
sionally on one side or the other. The banks, generally 
edged with swamp and fringed with its low peculiar 
growth, possess few attractions, and the occasional 
cottage serves greatly to relieve a picture, wanting 
certainly, not less in moral association than in the 
charm of landscape. At one spot we encounter the 
rude, clumsy edifice, usually styled the Block House, 
built for temporary defence, and here and there hold- 
ing its garrison of five, seven, or ten men, seldom of 
more, maintained simply as posts, not so much with 
he view to war as of warning. In its neighbourhood 
we see a cluster of log dwellings, three or four in 
number, the clearings in progress, the piled timber 
smoking or in flame, and the stillness only broken by 
the dull, heavy echo of the axe, biting into the trunk of 
the tough and long-resisting pine. On the banks the 

* The Indian pronunciation of their proper names is eminently 
musical ; we usually spoil them. This name is preserved in Carolina, 
out it wants the euphony and force which the Indian tongue gave it. 
We pronounce it usually in common quantity. The reader will lay 
the Emphasis upon the penultimate, giving to the i the sound of «, 


woodman draws up his " dug-out" or canoe — a single 
cypress, hollowed out by fire and the hatchet ; — around 
the fields the negro piles slowly the worming and un- 
graceful fence ; while the white boy gathers fuel for the 
pot over which his mother is bending in the preparatien 
of their frugal meal. A turn in the river unfolds to our 
sight a cottage, standing by itself, half finished, and 
probably deserted by its capricious owner. Opposite, 
on the other bank of the river, an Indian dries his bear- 
skin in the sun, while his infant hangs in the tree, 
wrapped in another, and lashed down upon a board 
(for security, not for symmetry), while his mother 
gathers up the earth, with a wooden drag, about the 
young roots of the tender corn. As we proceed, the 
traces of the Indians thicken. Now a cot, and now a 
hamlet, grows up before the sight, until, at the very 
head of the river, we come to the great place of coun- 
cil and most ancient town of the Yemassees — the 
town of Pocota-ligo.* 


" Not in their usual trim was he arrayed, 
The painted savage with a shaven head, 
And feature, tortured up by forest skill, 
To represent each noxious form of ill — 
And seem the tiger'.s tooth, the vulture's ravening bill." 

The " great town" of Pocota-ligo, as it was called 
oy the Yemassees, was the largest in their occupation. 
Its pretensions were few, however, beyond its popu- 

* It may be well to say that the Pocota-ligo river, as here described, 
would not readily be recognised in that stream at present. The 
swamps are now reclaimed, plantations and firm dwellings take the 
place of the ancient groves ; and the bald and occasional tree only 
tells us where the forests have been. The bed of the river has been 
narrowed by numerous encroachments ; and, though still navigable 
for sloop and schooner, its fair proportions have become greatly con- 
tracted in the silent but successful operation of the last hundred 
years upon it. 


lation, to rank under that title. It was a simple col- 
lection of scattered villages, united in process of time 
by the coalition with new tribes and the natural prog- 
ress of increase among them. They had other large 
towns, however, nor least among these was that of 
Coosaw-hatchie, or the " refuge of the Coosaws," a 
town established by the few of that people who had 
survived the overthrow of their nation in a previous 
war with the Carolinians. The " city of refuge" was 
a safe sanctuary, known among the greater number 
of our forest tribes, and not less respected with them 
than the same institutions among the Hebrews.* The 
refuge of the Coosaws, therefore, became recognised 
as such by all the Indians, and ranked, though of in- 
ferior size and population, in no respect below the 
town of Pocota-ligo. Within its limits — that is to say, 
within, the circuit of a narrow ditch, which had care- 
fully prescribed the bounds around it — the murderer 
found safety ; and the hatchet of his pursuer, and the 
club of justice, alike, were to him equally innocuous 
while he remained within its protection. 

The gray, soft teints of an April dawn had scarcely 
yet begun to lighten the dim horizon, when the low 
door of an Indian lodge that lay almost entirely im- 
bowered in the thick forest, about a mile from Poco- 
« ta-ligo, was seen to unclose, and a tall warrior to 
emerge slowly and in silence from its shelter, followed 
by a handsome dog, something of a hound in his gaunt 
person, but differing from the same animal in the pos- 

* These cities of refuge are, even now, said to exist among the 
Cherokees. Certain rites, common to most of the Indian tribes, are 
so clearly identical with many of those known to the Asiatics, that 
an opinion has been entertained, with much plausibility and force, 
which holds the North Americans to have come from the lost tribes 
of Israel. Dr. Barton, in his Materia Medica, referring to some tra- 
ditions of the Carolina Indians respecting their medical knowledge 
of certain plants, holds it to be sufficient ground for the conjecture 
The theorists on this subject have even pointed out the route of 
emigration from the east, by the way of Kamtschatka, descending 
south along the shores of the Pacific to Cape Horn. The great dif- 
ficulty, however, is in accounting for the rapid falling back of any 
people into such extreme barbarism, from a comparative condition of 


session of a head exceedingly short and compact. 
The warrior was armed after the Indian fashion. The 
long straight bow, with a bunch of arrows, probably 
a dozen in number, suspended by a thong of deerskin, 
hung loosely upon his shoulders. His hatchet or 
tomahawk, a light weapon introduced by the colonists, 
was slightly secured to his waist by a girdle of the 
same material. His dress, which fitted tightly to his 
person, indicated a frequent intercourse with ihe 
whites ; since it had been adapted to the shape of the 
wearer, instead of being worn loosely as^4he bearskin 
of preceding ages. Such an alteration in the national 
costume was found to accord more readily with the 
pursuits of the savage than the flowing garments 
which he had worn before. Until this improvement 
he had been compelled, in battle or the chase, to 
throw aside the cumbrous covering which neutralized 
his swiftness, and to exhibit himself in that state of 
perfect nudity, scarcely less offensive to the Indians 
than to more civilized communities. The warrior be- 
fore us had been among the first to avail himself of the 
arts of the whites in the improvement of the costume ; 
and though the various parts of the dress were secured 
together by small strings of the deer sinew, passed 
rudely through opposite holes, every two having their 
distinct tie, yet the imitation had been close enough to 
answer all purposes of necessity, and in no way to 
destroy the claim of the whites to the originating of 
the improvement. He wore a sort of pantaloons, the 
seams of which had been permanently secured in this 
manner, made of tanned buckskin of the brightest 
yellow, and of as tight a fit as the most punctilious 
dandy in modern times would insist upon. An upper 
garment, also of buckskin, made with more regard 
io freedom of limb, and called by the whites a hunt- 
: ng -shirt, completed the dress. Sometimes, such was 
ts make, the wearer threw it as a sort of robe 
loosely across hjs shoulders ; secured thus with 
the broad belt, either of woollen cloth or of the same 
material, which usually accompanied the garment. 


In the instance of which we speak, it sat upon the 
form of the wearer pretty much after the manner of a 
modern gentleman's frock. Buskins, or as named 
among them, mocquasins, also of the skin of the deer, 
tanned, or in its natural state, according to caprice or 
emergency, enclosed his feet tightly ; and without any 
other garment, and entirely free from the profusion of 
gaudy ornaments so common to the degraded Indians 
of modern times, and of which they seem so extrava- 
gantly fond, the habit of our new acquaintance may 
be held complete. Ornament, indeed, of any descrip- 
tion, would certainly have done little, if any thing, 
towards the improvement, in appearance, of the indi- 
vidual before us. His symmetrical person — majestic 
port — keen, falcon eye— calm, stern, deliberate ex- 
pression, and elevated head — would have been en- 
feebled, rather than improved, by the addition of beads 
and gauds, — the tinsel and glitter so common to the 
savage now. His form was large and justly propor- 
tioned. Stirring event and trying exercise had given 
it a confident, free, and manly carriage, which the air 
of decision about his eye and mouth admirably tallied 
with and supported. He might have been about fifty 
years of age ; certainly he could not have been less ; 
though we arrive at this conclusion rather from the 
strong, acute, and sagacious expression of his features 
than from any mark of feebleness or age. Unlike the 
Yemassees generally, who seem to have been of ar. 
elastic and frank temper, the chief — for he is such — 
under our view, seemed one, like Cassius, who had 
learned to despise all the light employs of life, and 
now only lived in the constant meditation of deep 
scheme and subtle adventure. He moved and looked 
as one with a mind filled to overflowing with rest- 
less thought, whose spirit, crowded with impetuous 
feelings, kept up constant warfare with the more de- 
liberate and controlling reason. 

Thus appearing, and followed closely by his dog, 
advancing from the shelter of his wigwam, he drew 
tightly the belt about his waist, and feeling carefully 


the string of his bow, as if to satisfy himself that it 
was unfrayed and coiud be depended upon, prepared 
to go forth into the forest. He had proceeded but a 
little distance, however, when, as if suddenly recok 
lecting something he had forgotten, he returned hur- 
riedly to the dweding, and tapping lightly upon the 
door which had been closed upon his departure, 
spoke as follows to some one within : — 

" The knife, Matiwan, the knife." 

He was answered in a moment by a female voice ; 
the speaker, an instant after, unclosing the door and 
handing him the instrument he required — the long 
knife, something like the modern case-knife, which, in- 
troduced by the whites, had been at once adopted by 
the Indians, as of all other things that most necessary 
to the various wants of the hunter. Sometimes the 
name of the Long Knife was conferred by the Indians, 
in a complimentary sense, upon the English, in due 
acknowledgment of the importance of their gift. Pro- 
tected, usually, as in the present instance, by a leath- 
ern sheath, it seldom or never left the person of its 
owner. The chief received the knife, and placed it 
along with the tomahawk in the belt around his waist. 
He was about to turn away, when the woman, but a 
glimpse of whose dusky but gentle features and dark 
eyes, appeared through the half-closed door, addressed 
him in a sentence of inquiry, in their own language, 
only remarkable for the deep respectfulness of its 

" Sanutee, — the chief, will he not come back with 
the night ?" 

" He will come, Matiwan — he will come. But the 
lodge of the white man is in the old house of the deer, 
and the swift-foot steal* off from the clear water where 
he once used to drink. The white man grinds his corn 
with the waters, and the deer is afraid of the noise. 
Sanutee will hunt for him in the far swamps — and the 
night will be dark before he comes back to Matiwan." 

" Sanutee — chief," she arain spoke in a faltering 
accent, as if to prepare the way for something else, 


of the success t ? which she seemed more doubtful ; 
but she paused without finishing the sentence. 

" Sanutee has ears, Matiwan — ears always for 
Matiwan," was the encouraging response, in a manner 
and tone well calculated to confirm the confidence 
which the language was intended to inspire. Half 
faltering still, she however proceeded : — 

" The boy, Sanutee — the boy, Occonestoga — " 

He interrupted her, almost fiercely. 

" Occonestoga is a dog, Matiwan ; he hunts the slaves 
of the English in the swamp, for strong drink. He 
is a slave himself — he has ears for their lies — he be 
lieves in their forked tongues, and he has two voices 
for his own people. Let him not look into the lodge of 
Sanutee. Is not Sanutee the chief of the Yemassee ?" 

" Sanutee is the great chief. But Occonestoga is 
the son of Sanutee — " 

" Sanutee has no son — " 

" But Matiwan, Sanutee — " 

" Matiwan is the woman who has lain in the bosom 
of Sanutee ; she has dressed the venison for Sanutee 
when the great chiefs of the Charriquees* sat at his 
board. Sanutee hides it not under his tongue. The 
Yemassees speak for Matiwan — she is the wife of 

"And mother of Occonestoga," exclaimed the woman, 

"No! Matiwan must not be the mother to a dog. 
Occonestoga goes with the English to bite the heels 
of the Yemassee." 

" Is not Occonestoga a chief of Yemassee V asked 
the woman. 

" Ha ! look, Matiwan — the great Manneyto has bad 
spirits that hate him. They go forth and they fear 
him, but they hate him. Is not Opitchi-Manneytof a 
bad spirit ?" 

" Sanutee says." 

* The name of the Cherokees is thus written in some of the old 
documents of South Carolina. 
t The Yemassee Evil Principle. 


" But Opitchi-Manneyto works for the good spirit. 
He works, but his heart is bad — ho loves not the 
work, but he fears the thunder. Occonestoga is the 
bad servant of Yemassee : he shall hear the thunder, 
and the lightning shall flash in his path. Go, Matiwan, 
thou art not the mother of a dog. Go — Sanutee will 
come back with the night." 

The eye of the woman was suffused and full of 
appeal, as the chief turned away sternly, in a manner 
which seemed to forbid all other speech. She watched 
him silontly as he withdrew, until he was hidden from 
sight by the interposing forest, then sunk back sorrow- 
fully into the lodge to grieve over the excesses of an 
only son, exiled by a justly incensed father from the 
abode of which he had been the blessing and the 

Sanutee, in the meanwhile, pursued his way silently 
through a narrow by-path, leading to the town of Poco- 
ta-ligo, which he reached after a brief period. The 
town lay in as much quiet as the isolated dwelling he 
had left. The sun had not yet arisen, and the scat- 
tered dwellings, built low and without closeness or 
order, were partly obscured from sight by the untrim- 
med trees, almost in the original forest, which shut 
them in. A dog, not unlike his own, growled, at him 
as he approached one of the more conspicuous dwel- 
lings, and this was the only sound disturbing the gen- 
eral silence. He struck quickly at the door, and in- 
quired briefly — 

" Ishiagaska — he will go with Sanutee." 

A boy came at the sound, and in reply, pointing to 
the woods, gave him to understand — while one hand 
played with the handle of the chief's knife, which he 
continued to draw from and thrust back into its sheath, 
without interruption from the wearer — that his father 
had already gone forth. Without farther pause or in- 
quiry, Sanutee turned, and taking his way through the 
body of the town, soon gained the river. Singling 
forth a canoe, hollowed out from a cypress, and which 
lay with an hundred others drawn up upon the miry 


bank, he succeeded with little exertion in launching it 
forth into the water, and taking his place upon a seat 
fixed in the centre, followed by his dog, with a small 
scull or flap-oar, which he transferred with wonderful 
dexterity from one hand to the other as he desired to 
regulate his course, he paddled himself directly across 
the river, though then somewhat swollen and impetu- 
ous from a recent and heavy freshet. Carefully con- 
cealing his canoe in a clustering shelter of sedge and 
cane, which grew along the banks, he took his way, 
still closely followed by his faithful dog, into the 
bosom of a forest much more dense than that which 
he had left, and which promised a better prospect of 
the game which he desired. 


" The red-deer pauses not to crush 
The broken branch and withered bush, 
And scarcely may the dry leaves feel 
His sharp and sudden hoof of steel ; 
For, startled in the scatter'd wood, 
In fear he seeks the guardian flood, 
Then in the forest's deepest haunt, 
Finds shelter and a time to pant." 

What seemed the object of the chief Sanutee, the 
most wise and valiant among the Yemassees ? Was 
it game — was it battle ? To us objectless, his course 
nevertheless lay onward and alone. It was yet early 
day, and though here and there inhabited, no human 
being save himself seemed stirring in that dim region. 
His path wound about and sometimes followed the 
edge of a swamp or bayou, formed by a narrow and 
turbid creek, setting in from the river and making one 
of the thousand indentions common to all streams 
coursing through the level fiats of the southern coun- 
try. He occupied an hour or more in rounding this 


bayou ; and then, with something of directness in his 
progress, he took his way down the river bank and 
towards the settlement of the whites. Yet their abodes 
or presence seemed not his object. Whenever, here 
and there, as he continued along the river, the larger 
clay hovel of the pioneer met his sight, shooting up 
beyond the limits of civilization, and preparing the way 
for its approach, the Indian chief would turn aside 
from the prospect with ill-concealed disgust. 

" He would the plain 

Lay in its tall old groves again." 

Now and then, as — perched on some elevated bank, 
and plying the mysteries of his woodcraft, hewing his 
timber, clearing his land, or breaking the earth — the 
borderer rose before his glance, in the neighbourhood 
of his half-finished wigwam, singing out some cheery 
song of the old country, as much for the strengthening 
of his resolve as for the sake of the music, the war- 
rior would dart aside into the forest, not only out of 
sight but out of hearing, nor return again to the road 
he was pursuing until fairly removed from the chance 
of a second contact. This desire, however, was not 
so readily indulged ; for the progress of adventure and 
the long repose fromstrife in that neighbourhood had 
greatly encouraged the settlers ; and it was not so easy 
for Sanutee to avoid the frequent evidences of that en- 
terprise among the strangers, which was the chief 
cause of his present discontent. Though without 
any thing which might assure us of the nature or the 
mood at work within him, it was yet evident enough 
that the habitations and presenceof the whites brought 
him nothing but disquiet. He was one of those per- 
sons, fortunately for the species, to be found in every 
country, who are always in advance of the masses 
clustering around them. He was a philosopher not 
less than a patriot, and saw, while he deplored, the 
destiny which awaited his people. He well knew that 
the superior must necessarily be the ruin of the race 
which is inferior — that the one must either sink its 


existence in with that of the other, or it must perish. 
He was wise enough to see, that in every case of a 
leading difference between classes of men, either in 
colour or organization, such difference must only and 
necessarily eventuate in the formation of castes ; and 
the one conscious of any inferiority, whether of capa- 
city or of attraction, so long as they remain in propin- 
quity with the other, will tacitly become instruments 
and bondmen. Apart from this foreseeing reflection, 
Sanutee had already experienced many of those thou- 
sand forms of assumption and injury on the part of the 
whites, which had opened the eyes of many of his 
countrymen, and taught them, not less than himself, to 
know, that a people, once conscious of their superi- 
ority, will never be found to hesitate long in its de- 
spotic exercise over their neighbours. An abstract 
standard of justice, independent of appetite or circum- 
stance, has not often marked the progress of Christian 
(so called) civilization, in its proffer of its great good 
to the naked savage. The confident reformer, who 
takes sword in one hand and sacrament in the other, 
has always found it the surest way to rely chiefly on 
the former agent. Accordingly, it soon grew apparent 
to the Yemassees, that, while proposing treaties for 
the purchase of their lands, the whites were never so 
well satisfied, as when, by one subtlety or another, they 
contrived to overreach them. Nor was it always that 
even the show of justice and fair bargaining was pre- 
served by the new comer to his dusky brother. The 
irresponsible adventurer, removed from the immediate 
surveillance of society, committed numberless petty 
injuries upon the property, and sometimes upon the 
person of his wandering neighbour, without being often 
subject to the penalties awarded by his own people for 
the punishment of such offenders. From time to time, 
as the whites extended their settlements, and grew con- 
fident in their increasing strength, did their encroach- 
ments go on ; until the Indians, originally gentle and 
generous enough, provoked by repeated aggression, 
were not unwilling to change their habit for one of 


strife and hostility, at the first convenient opportunity. 
At the head of those of the Yemassees entertaining 
such a feeling, Sanutee stood pre-eminent. A chief 
and warrior, having influence with the nation, and once 
exercising it warmly in favour of the English, he had, 
however, come to see farther than the rest of his peo- 
ple the degradation which was fast dogging their foot- 
steps. To the ultimate consequences his mind there- 
fore gave itself up, and was now employed in the 
meditation of all those various measures of relief and 
redress, which would naturally suggest themselves to 
a resolute and thinking spirit, warmed by patriotism 
and desirous of justice. We shall see, in the sequel, 
how deeply he had matured the remedy, and how 
keenly he had felt the necessity calling for its appli- 

At length he came to a cottage more tastefully con- 
structed than the rest, having a neat veranda in 
front, and half concealed by the green foliage of a 
thickly clustering set of vines. It was the abode of 
the Rev. John Matthews,* an old English Puritan, 
who had settled there with his wife and daughter, and 
officiated occasionally as a pastor, whenever a collec- 
tion of his neighbours gave him an opportunity to 
exhort. He was a stern and strict, but a good old 
man. He stood in the veranda as Sanutee came in 
sight. The moment the chief beheld him, he turned 
away with a bitter countenance, and resolutely avoid- 
ing the house until he had gone around it, took no 
manner of heed of the friendly hail which the old 
pastor had uttered on seeing him approach. 

Thus pursuing a winding route, and as much as 
possible keeping the river banks, while avoiding the 

* One of the express conditions upon which the original patent of 
Charles II. was granted to the lord proprietors of Carolina, was their 
promulgation of the gospel among the Indians. Upon this charita- 
ble object the mission of Mr. Matthews was undertaken, though it 
may be well to add, that one of the grounds of objection made sub- 
sequently to the proprietary charier was the neglect of the duty. 
An objection not so well founded when we consider the difficulties 
which the roving habits of the savages must at all times and of ne- 
cessity throw in the way of such labours. 

Vol. I. 3 


white settlements, the Indian warrior had spent several 
hours since his first departure. He could not well be 
said to look for game, though, possibly, as much 
from habit as desire, he watched at intervals the fixed 
gaze of his keenly scented dog, as it would be concen- 
trated upon the woods on either side — now hearing and 
encouraging his cry, as he set upon the track of deer 
or turkey, and pursuing digressively the occasional 
route of the animal whenever it seemed to the chief 
that there was any prospect of his success. As yet, 
however, the chase, such as it was, had resulted in 
nothing. The dog would return from cover, forego the 
scent, and sluggishly, with drooping head and indolent 
spirit, silently trip along either before or behind his 

It was about mid-day when the chief rested beside a 
brooklet, or, as it is called in the south, a branch, that 
trickled across the path ; and taking from the leathern 
pouch which he carried at his side a strip of dried 
venison, and a small sack of parched Indian meal, he 
partook of the slight repast which his ramble had made 
grateful enough. Stooping over the branch, he slaked 
his thirst from the clear waters, and giving the residue 
of his eatables to the dog, who stood patiently beside 
him, he prepared to continue his forward progress. 

It was not long before he reached the Block House 
of the settlers — the most remote garrison station of the 
English upon that river. It had no garrison at this 
time, however, and was very much out of repair. 
Such had been the friendship of the Yemassees 
heretofore with the Carolinians, that no necessity 
seemed to exist, in the minds of the latter, for main- 
taining it in better order. The Block House marked 
the rightful boundary of the whites upon the river. 
Beyond this spot, they had as yet acquired no claim of 
territory ; and hitherto the Indians, influenced chiefly 
by Sanutee and other of their chiefs, had resolutely re- 
fused to make any farther conveyance, or enter into 
any new treaty for its disposal. But this had not de- 
terred the settlers, many of whom had gone consider- 


ably beyond the limit, and suffered no interruption. 
All of these were trespassers, therefore, and in a matter 
of right would have been soon dispossessed ; but in 
the event of such an effort, no treaty would have been 
necessary to yield sufficient sanction to the adven- 
turers for a defence by arms of their possessions ; and 
many of the borderers so obtruding were of a class to 
whom the contiguity of the Indians was quite as grate- 
ful, and probably as safe, as that of their own colour. 
In the neighbourhood of the Block House, however,, 
the settlements had been much more numerous. The 
families, scattered about at a distance of two, three, or 
four miles from one another, could easily assemble in 
its shelter in the chance of any difficulty. The fabric 
itself was chiefly constructed for such uses ; and could 
with comparative ease be defended by a few stout 
hearts and hands, until relief could reach them from 
their brethren on the coast. Though not upon the 
river, yet the distance of this fortress from it was in- 
considerable — a mile or more, perhaps, and with an 
unobstructed path to a convenient landing. Retreat 
was easy, therefore, in this way, and succours by the 
same route could reach them, though all the woods 
around were filled with enemies. It was built after a 
prevailing fashion for such buildings at the time. An 
oblong square of about an acre was taken in by a 
strong line of pickets, giving an area upon either end 
of the building, but so narrow that the pickets in front 
and rear actually made up parts of the fabric, and 
were immediately connected with its foundation tim- 
bers. The house consisted of two stories, the upper 
being divided by a thick partition into two apartments, 
with a clumsy window of about three feet square in 
each. These two windows fronted either end of the 
building, and beyond these there were no other aper- 
tures than those provided for musket shooting. The 
lower story formed but a single hall, from which lad- 
ders ascended by distinct openings into the upper 
apartments. A line of small apertures, made at proper 
intervals in the walls below, served also for the use of 


muskets against an approaching enemy. The house 
was built of pine^ logs, put together as closely as the 
nature of the material and the skill of the artificers 
would permit ; and, save through the apertures and 
windows described, was impervious to a musket bullet 
It was sufficiently spacious for the population of the 
country, as it then stood, and the barrier made by 
the high pickets on either side was itself no mean 
resistance in a sudden fray. A single entrance to the 
right area gave access to the building, through a door, 
the only one which it possessed, opening in that 
quarter. The gate was usually of oak, but in the 
present instance it was wanting entirely, having been 
probably torn off and carried away by some of the 
borderers, who found more use for it than for the for- 
tress. In sundry respects besides, the friendly rela- 
tions existing between the whites and Indians had 
contributed to its dilapidation, and the want of trifling 
occasional repairs had not immaterially helped its 

From the Block House, which Sanutee examined 
both within and without with no little attention and 
some show of discontent, he proceeded towards the 
river. A little duck-like thing — a sort of half schooner, 
but of very different management and rigging, lay in 
the stream, seemingly at anchor. There was no show 
of men on board, but at a little distance from her a 
boat rowed by two sailors, and managed by a third, 
was pulling vigorously up stream. The appearance 
of this vessel, which he had now seen for the first 
time, seemed to attract much of his attention ; but as 
there was no mode of communication, and as she 
showed no flag, he was compelled to stifle his curiosity, 
from whatever cause it might have sprung. Leaving the 
spot, therefore, after a brief examination, he plunged 
once more into the forest, and as he took his way 
homeward, with more seeming earnestness than before, 
he urg a ; bis dog upon the scent, while unslinging his 
bow, and tightening the sinew until the elastic yew 
trembled at the slight pressure which he gave it ; then 


choosing carefully the arrows, three in number, which 
he released from the string that bound the rest, he 
seemed now for the first time to prepare himself in 
good earnest for the hunt. In thus wandering from 
cover to cover, he again passed the greater number of 
the white settlements, and in the course of a couple of 
hours, had found his way to a spacious swamp, formed 
by the overflow of the river immediately at hand, and 
familiarly known to the warrior as a great hiding-place 
for game. He perceived at this point that the senses 
of the intelligent dog became quickened and forward, 
and grasping him by the slack skin of the neck, he led 
him to a tussock running along at the edge of the 
swamp, and in a zigzag course passing through it, and 
giving him a harking cheer common to the hunters, he 
left him and made a rapid circuit to an opposite point, 
where a ridge of land, making out from the bosom of 
the swamp, and affording a freer outlet, was generally 
known as a choice stand for the affrighted and fugitive 
deer. He had not long reached the point and taken 
cover, before, stooping to the earth, he detected the dis- 
tant baying of the dog, in anxious scent, keeping a 
direct course, and approaching, as was the usual habit, 
along the little ridge upon the border of which he 
stood. Sinking back suddenly from sight, he crouched 
beside a bush, and placing his shaft upon the string, 
and giving all ear to the sounds which now continued 
to approach, he stood in readiness for his victim. In 
another moment and the boughs gave way, the broken 
branches were whirled aside in confusion, and breaking 
forth with headlong bound and the speed of an arrow, 
a fine buck of full head rushed down the narrow ridge 
and directly on the path of the Indian. With his ap- 
pearance the left foot of the hunter was advanced, the 
arrow was drawn back until the barb chafed upon the 
elastic yew, then whizzing, with a sharp twang and most 
unerring direction, it penetrated in another instant the 
brown sides of the precipitate animal. A convulsive and 
upward leap testified the sudden and sharp pang which 
he felt ; but he kept on. and just at the moment when 


Samitee, having fitted another arrow, was about to 
complete what he had so well begun, a gunshot rung 
from a little copse directly in front of him, to which the 
deer had been flying for shelter; and, with a reeling 
stagger which completely arrested his unfinished leap, 
the victim sunk, sprawling forward upon the earth, in 
the last agonies of death. 


** This man is not of us — his ways are strange, S 
And his looks stranger. Wherefore does he come — 
What are his labours here, his name, his purpose, 
And who are they that know and speak for him?" 

The incident just narrated had scarcely taken plao^ , 
when the dog of the Indian chief bounded from ths 
cover, and made toward the spot where the deer lay 
prostrate. At the same instant, emerging from the 
copse whence the shot had proceeded, and which ran 
immediately alongside the victim, came forward the 
successful sportsman. He was a stout, strange look- 
ing person, rough and weather-beaten, had the air, 
and wore a dress fashioned something like that of 
the sailor. He was of middle stature, stout and mus- 
cular, and carried himself with the yawing, see-saw 
motion, which marks the movements generally upon 
land of that class of men. Still, there was some- 
thing about him that forbade the idea of his being a 
common seaman. There was a daring insolence of 
look and gesture, which, taken in connexion with the 
red, full face, and the watery eye, spoke of indul- 
gences and a habit of unrestraint somewhat inconsis- 
tent with one not accustomed to authority. His dress, 
though that of the sailor — for even at that early period 
the style of garment worn by this, differed from that 
of all other classes — was yet clean, and made of the 


finest material. He wore a blue jacket, studded 
thickly with buttons that hung each by a link, and formed 
so many pendent knobs of solid gold ; and there 
w£a not a little ostentation in the thick and repeated 
folds of the Spanish chain, made of the same rich 
material, which encircled his neck. His pantaloons, 
free like the Turkish, were also of a light blue cloth, 
and a band of gold lace ran down upon the outer seam 
of each leg, from the hip to the heel. A small dirk, 
slightly curved, like that worn by the young officers of 
our navy in modern times, was the only apparent 
weapon which he carried, beyond the short, heavy 
Dutch fusil he had just used so successfully. 

The deer had scarcely fallen when this personage ad- 
vanced toward him from the wood. The shot had been 
discharged at a trifling distance from the object, which 
was pushing for the direct spot where the stranger 
had been stationed. It had penetrated the breast, and 
was almost instantly fatal. A few moments served to 
bring him to his victim, while Sanutee from the other 
end of the copse also came forward. Before either 
of them had got sufficiently nigh to prevent him, the 
dog of the chief, having reached the deer, at once, 
with the instinct of his nature, struck his teeth into 
his throat, tearing it voraciously for the blood, which 
the Indian sportsmen invariably taught him to relish. 
The stranger bellowed to him with the hope to 
arrest his appetite, and prevent him from injuring the 
moat; but, accustomed as the dog had been to obey 
but one master, and to acknowledge but a single lan- 
guage, he paid no attention to the cries and threats of 
the seaman, who now, hurrying forward with a show 
of more unequivocal authority, succeeded only in trans- 
ferring the ferocity of the dog from his prey to himself. 
Lifting his gun, he threatened but to strike, and the 
animal sprang furiously upon him. Thus assailed, the 
stranger, in good earnest, with a formidable blow from 
the butt of his fusil, sent the enemy reeling ; but re- 
covering in an instant, without any seeming abate- 
ment of vigour, with a ferocity duly increased from 


his injury, he flew with more desperation than ever to 
the assault, and, being a dog of considerable strength, 
threatened to become a formidable opponent. But 
the man assailed was a cool, deliberate person, and 
familiar with enemies of every description. — Adroitly 
avoiding the dash made at his throat by the animal, he 
contrived to grapple with him as he reached the earth, 
and by a single hand, with an exercise of some of 
the prodigious muscle which his appearance showed 
him to possess, he held him down, while with the 
other hand he deliberately released his dirk from its 
sheath. Sanutee, who was approaching, and who had 
made sundry efforts to call off the infuriated dog, now 
cried out to the seaman in broken English, " Knife him 
not, white man — it is good dog, knife him not." But 
he spoke too late ; and in spite of all the struggles 
of the animal, with a fierce laugh of derision, the 
sailor passed the sharp edge of the weapon over his 
throat ; then releasing his hold upon him, which all 
the while he had maintained with the most iron inflex- 
ibility of nerve, he left the expiring dog, to which the 
stroke had been fatal, to perish on the grass. 

It was fortunate for himself that he was rid of the 
one assailant so soon ; for he had barely returned his 
knife to its sheath, and resumed his erect posture, when 
Sanutee, who had beheld the whole struggle — which, 
indeed, did not occupy but a few minutes — plunged for- 
ward as furiously as the animal had done, and the n* ■ 
instant was upon the stranger. The Indian ha' 3 , nur- 
ried forward to save his dog; and his feelin^, roused 
into rage by what he had witnessed, took from him 
much of that cautious consideration, at the moment, 
which an Indian commonly employs the more securely 
to effect his revenge ; and with a cry of ferocious indig 
nation, throwing aside the bow which rather impeded 
his movements, he grappled the seaman with an em- 
brace which might have compelled even the native 
bear to cry quarter. But the sailor was bold and fear- 
less, and it was soon evident that Sanutee, though 
muscular and admirably built, but tall and less com- 


pact, laboured of necessity under a disadvantage in the 
close struggle which ensued, with one so much shorter 
and more closely set. The conditions of the combat 
seemed to be perfectly well understood by both par- 
ties ; for, with the exception of an occasional exclama- 
tion from one or the other in the first movements of 
the struggle, no words passed between them. Their 
arms were interlaced, and their bodies closely locked 
for a desperate issue, without parley or prepara- 
tion. At first it would have been difficult to say 
which of the two could possibly prove the better man. 
The symmetry of the Indian, his manly height, and 
free carriage, would necessarily incline the spectator 
in his favour; but there was a knotted firmness, a 
tough, sinewy bulk of body in the whole make of his 
opponent, which, in connexion with his greater youth, 
would bring the odds in his favour. If the sailor was 
the stronger, however, the Indian had arts which for a 
time served to balance his superiority; but Sanutee 
was exasperated, and this was against him. His 
enemy had all the advantage of perfect coolness, and 
a watchful circumspection that seemed habitual, still 
defeated in great part the subtleties of his assail- 
ant The error of Sanutee was in suffering impulse 
to defeat reflection, which necessarily came too late, 
once engaged in the mortal struggle. The Indian, 
save in the ball-play, is no wrestler by habit. There 
he may and does wrestle, and death is sometimes the 
consequence of the furious emulation ;* but such exer- 
cise is otherwise unpractised with the aborigines. 
To regret his precipitation, however, was now of little 
avail — to avoid its evils was the object. 

One circumstance now gave a turn to the affair, 
which promised a result decisive on one side or the 
other. So close had been the grasp, so earnest the 
struggle, that neither of them could attempt to free 
and employ his knife without giving a decided ad- 

* In a fair struggle, engaged in this manly exercise, to kill the 
antagonist is legitimate with the Tndians generally ; all other forms 
of murder call for revenge and punishment. 


vantage to his enemy ; but in one of those move- 
ments which distorted their bodies, until the ground 
was nearly touched by the knees of both, the knife of 
the Indian warrior fell from its sheath, and lay beside 
them upon the turf. To secure its possession was 
the object, upon which, simultaneously as it were, 
their eyes were cast ; but duly with the desire came 
the necessity of mutual circumspection, and so well 
aware were they both of this necessity, that it is proba- 
ble, but for an unlooked-for circumstance, the battle 
must have been protracted sufficiently long, by ex- 
hausting both parties, to have made it a drawn one. 
The affair might then have ended in a compromise ; 
but it so happened, that in the perpetual change of 
ground and position by the combatants, the foot of Sa- 
nutee at length became entangled with the body of 
his dog. As he felt the wrinkling skin glide, and the 
ribs yield beneath him, an emotion of tenderness, a 
sort of instinct, operated at once upon him, and, as if 
fearing to hurt the object, whose utter insensibility he 
did not seem at that moment to recollect, he drew up 
the foot suddenly, and endeavoured to throw it over 
the animal. By separating his legs with this object, 
he gave his adversary an advantage, of which he 
did not fail to avail himself. With the movement 
of Sanutee, he threw one of his knees completely be- 
tween those of the warrior, and pressing his own huge 
body at the same time forward upon him, they both 
fell heavily, still interlocked, upon the now completely 
crushed carcass of the dog. The Indian chief was 
partially stunned by the fall, but being a-top, the sailor 
W3.s unhurt. In a moment, recovering himself from 
the relaxed grasp of his opponent, he rose upon his 
knee, which he pressed down heavily upon Sanutee's 
bosom ; the latter striving vainly to possess him- 
self of the tomahawk sticking in his girdle. But his 
enemy had too greatly the advantage, and was quite 
too watchful to permit of his succeeding in this effort. 
The whole weight of one knee rested upon the instru- 
ment, which lay in the belt innocuous. With a fearful 


smile, which spoke a ferocious exultation of spirit, in 
the next moment the sailor drew the dirk knife from 
his own side, and flourishing it over the eyes of the 
defenceless Indian, thus addressed him : — 

" And what do you say for yourself now, you red- 
skinned devil 1 Blast your eyes, but you would have 
taken off my scalp for little or nothing — only because 
of your confounded dog, and he at my throat too. 
What if I take off yours ?" 

" The white man will strike," calmly responded the 
chief, while his eyes looked the most savage indiffer 
ence, and the lines of his mouth formed a play of ex- 
pression the most composed and natural. 

" Ay, damme, but I will. I'll give you a lesson to 
keep you out of mischief, or I've lost reckoning of my 
own seamanship. Hark ye now, you red devil — 
wherefore did you set upon me ? Is a man's blood no 
better than a dog's ?" 

" The white man is a dog. I spit upon him," was 
the reply ; accompanied, as the chief spoke, with a 
desperate struggle at release, made with so much ear- 
nestness and vigour as almost for a few moments to 
promise to be successful. But failing to succeed, the 
attempt only served seemingly to confirm the savage 
determination of his conqueror, whose coolness at 
such a moment, more perhaps than any thing beside, 
marked a character to whom the shedding of blood 
seemed a familiar exercise. He spoke to the victim 
he was about to strike fatally, with as much composure 
as if treating of the most indifferent matter. 

" Ay, blast you, you're all alike — there's but one 
way to make sure of you, and that is, to slit your gills 
whenever there's a chance. I know you'd cut mine 
soon enough, and that's all I want to know to make 
me cut yours. Yet, who are you — are you one of these 
Yemassees ? Tell me your name ; I always like to 
know whose blood I let." 

" Does the white man sleep 1 — strike, I do not shut 
my eyes to your knife. v 

" Well, d — n it, red-skin, I see you don't want tQ 


get off, so here's at you," making a stroke of hi& 
knife, seemingly at the throat of his victim. Sanutee 
threw up his arm, but the aim in this quarter had been 
a feint ; for, turning the direction of the weapon, he 
passed the sharp steel directly upon the side of the 
warrior, and almost immediately under his own knee. 
The chief discovered the deception, and feeling that 
all hope was over, began muttering, with a seeming 
instinct, in hi§ own language, the words of triumphant 
song, which every Indian prepares beforehand for the 
hour of his final passage. But he still lived. The 
blow was stayed : his enemy, seized by some one 
from behind, was dragged backward from the body of 
his victim by another and a powerful hand." The 
opportunity to regain his feet was not lost upon the In- 
dian, who, standing erect with his bared hatchet, again 
confronted his enemy, without any loss of courage, 
and on a more equal footing. 


" His eye hath that within it which affirms 
The noble gentleman. Pray you, mark him well ; 
Without his office we may nothing do 
Pleasing to this fair company." 

The sailor turned fiercely, dirk in hand, upon the 
person who had thus torn him from his victim ; but he 
met an unflinching front, and a weapon far more po- 
tent than his own. The glance of the new comer, not 
less than his attitude, warned him of the most perfect 
readiness ; while a lively expression of the eye, and 
the something of a smile which slightly parted his lips, 
gave a careless, cavalier assurance to his air, which 
left it doubtful whether, in reality, he looked upon a 
contest as even possible at that moment. The stran- 
ger was about thirty years old, with a rich European 
complexion, a light blue eye, and features moulded 


finely, so as to combine manliness with so much of 
beauty as may well comport with it. He was proba 
bly six feet in height, straight as an arrow, and remarka- 
bly well and closely set. He wore a dress common 
among the gentlemen of that period and place — a sort 
of compound garb, in which the fashion of the English 
cavalier of the second Charles had been made to coa- 
lesce in some leading particulars with that which, in 
the American forests, seemed to be imperatively called 
for by the novel circumstances and mode of life pre- 
vailing in that region. The over-coat was of a dark 
blue stuff, usually worn open at the bosom, and dis- 
playing the rich folds of the vest below, of a colour 
suited to the taste of the wearer, but which on the 
present occasion was of the purest white. The under- 
clothes were of a light gray, fitting closely a persen 
which they happily accommodated and served admira- 
bly to. display. His buskins were like those worn by 
the Indians, but coining higher up the leg ; and with a 
roll just above the ankle, rather wider, but not unlike 
that common to the modern boot. A broad buckskin 
belt encircled his waist, and secured the doublet which 
came midway down his thigh. In his hand he carried 
a light musketoon, or smoothbore, of peculiarly grace- 
ful make for that period, and richly ornamented with 
drops of silver let in tastefully along the stock, so as 
to shape vaguely a variety of forms and figures. The 
long knife stuck in his belt was the only other weapon, 
which he appeared to carry ; and forming, as it does, 
one of the most essential implements of woodcraft, wo 
may scarcely consider it under that designation. A 
white Spanish hat, looped broadly up at one of tho 
sides, and secured with a small button of gold, rested 
slightly upon his head, from which, as was the fashion 
of the time, the brown hair in long clustering ringlets 
depended about the neck. 

The sailor, as we have said, turned immediately upon 

the person who, so opportunely for Sanutee, had torn 

him from the body of the Indian ; but he encountered 

the presented rifle, and the clicking of the cock assured 

I 4 


him of the readiness of him who held it to settle ill 
farther strife. Apart from this, he saw that the new 
comer was no child — that he was of not less powerful 
make than the Indian, and with fewer years to subtract 
from it. The single effort, too, by which he had been 
drawn away from his victim, indicated the possession 
of a degree of strength which made the sailor pause 
and move cautiously in his advance upon the intruder. 

" Well, master," said the seaman, M what is this 
matter to you, that you must meddle in other men's 
quarrels ? Have you so many lives to spare that you 
must turn my knife from the throat of a wild savage to 
your own ?" 

"Put up your knife, good Pepperbox — put it up 
while you have permission," said the person so ad- 
dressed, very complaisantly, " and thank your stars 
that I came in time to keep you from doing what none 
of us might soon undo. Know you not the chief — 
would you strike the great chief of the Yemassees — 
our old friend Sanutee — the best friend of the Eng- 
lish ?" 

" And who the devil cares whether he be a friend 
to the English or not ? I don't ; and would just as 
lief cut his throat as yours, if I thought proper.'' 

" Indeed — why you are a perfect Trojan — pray who 
are you, and where did you come from ?" was the cava- 
lier's response to the brutal speech of the sailor, whom 
every word of the last speaker seemed to arouse into 
new fury, which he yet found it politic to restrain ; for 
a sense of moral inferiority, in breeding or in station, 
seemed to have the effect of keeping down and quel- 
ling in some sort the exhibitions of a temper which 
otherwise would have prompted him again to blows. 
The pause which he made before responding to the 
last direct inquiry, seemed given to reflection. His 
manner became suddenly more moderate, and his 
glance rested frequently and with an inquiring ex- 
pression upon the countenance of the Indian. At 
length, giving a direct reply to the interrogatory which 
seemed a yielding of the strife, he replied, 


" And suppose, fair master, I don't choose to say 
who I am, and from whence I came. — What then?" 

" Why then let it alone, my Hercules. I care little 
whether you have a name 01 not. You certainly can- 
not have an honest one. For me you shall be Hercu- 
les or Nebuchadnezzar — you shall be Turk, or Ishma- 
elite, or the devil — it matters not whence a man. comes 
when it is easily seen where he will go." 

The countenance of the sailor grew black with rage 
at the language of the speaker, not less than at hi 1 ? 
cool, laughing, contemptuous manner. But the pro- 
cess of thinking himself into composure and caution 
going on in his mind for necessary purposes, seemed 
to teach hira consideration ; and leisurely proceeding 
to reload his fusil, he offered no interruption to the 
Englishman, who now addressed himself to the Indian. 

" You have suffered a loss, Sanutee, and I'm sorry 
for it, chief*. But you shall have another — a dog of 
mine, — a fine pup which I have in Charlestown. When 
will you go down to see your English brother at 
Charlestown ?" 

" Who is the brother of Sanutee V 

" The governor — you have never seen him, and he 
would like to see you. If you go not to see him, he 
will think you love him not, and that you lie on the 
same blanket with his enemies." 

" Sanutee is the chief of the Yemassees — he will 
stay at Pocota-ligo with his people." 

" Well, be it so. I shall bring you the dog to Pocota- 

" Sanutee asks no dog from the warrior of the Eng- 
lish. The dog of the English hunts after the dark- 
skin of my people." 

" No, no — chief. I don't mean to give you Dugdale. 
Dugdale never parts with his master, if I can help it ; 
but you say wrong. The dog of the English has never 
hunted the Yemassee warrior. He has only hunted 
the Savannahs and the Westoes, who were the ene- 
mies of the English." 

" The eyes of Sanutee are good — he has seen the 
dog of the English tear the throat of his brqther." 


" Well, you will see the dog I shall bring yon to 

" Sanutee would not see the young brave of the 
English at Pocota-ligo. Pocota-ligo is for the Yemas- 
sees. Let the Coosaw-kiiler come not.'' 

" Hah ! What does all this mean, Sanutee ? Are we 
not friends ? Are not the Yemassee and the English 
two brothers, that take the same track, and have the 
same friends and enemies ? Is it not so, Sanutee ?" 

" Speaks the young chief with a straight tongue — he 

" I speak truth ; and will come to see you in Pocota- 

" No — the young brave will come not to Pocota-ligo. 
It is the season of the corn, and the Yemassee will 
gather to the festival." 

" The green corn festival ! I must be there, Sanu- 
tee, and you must not deny me. You were not wont 
to be so inhospitable, chief; nor will I suffer it now. 
I would see the lodge of the great chief. I would par- 
take of the venison— some of this fine buck, which the 
hands of Matiwan will dress for the warrior's board 
at evening." 

" You touch none of that buck, either of you ; so 
be not so free, young master. It's my game, and had 
the red-skin been civil, he should have had his share 
in it ; but, as it is, neither you nor he lay hands on 
it; not a stiver of it goes into your hatch, d — n me." 

The sailor had listened with a sort of sullen indif- 
ference to the dialogue which had been going on be- 
tween Sanutee and the new comer ; but his looks in- 
dicated impatience not less than sullenness ; and he 
took the opportunity afforded him by the last words 
of the latter, to gratify, by the rude speech just given, 
the malignity of his excited temper. 

" Why, how now, churl ?" was the response of the 
Englishman, turning suddenly upon the seaman, with 
a haughty indignation as he spoke — " how now, churl ? 
is this a part of the world where civility is so plenty 
that you must Sght to avoid a surfeit. Hear you, 


sirrah ; these woods have bad birds for the unruly, and 
you may find them hard to get through if you put not 
more good-humour under your tongue. Take your 
meat, for a surly savage as you are, and be off as 
quick as you can ; and may the first mouthful choke 
you. Take my counsel, Bully-boy, and clear your 
joints, or you may chance to get more of your merits 
than your venison." 

" Who the devil are you, to order me off? I'll go a* 
my pleasure ; and as for the Indian, and as for you — " 

" What, Hercules V 

" I'll mark you both, or there's no sea-room." 

" Well, as you please," coolly replied the English- 
man to the threat, — " as you please ; and now that you 
have made your speech, will you be good-natured for 
a moment, and let your absence stand for your civility ?" 

" No— I'll be d— d if I do, for any man." 

" You'll be something more than d — d, old boy, if 
you stay. We are two, you see ; and here's my Hec- 
tor, who's a little, old to be sure, but is more than your 
match now" — and as the Englishman spoke, he point- 
ed to the figure of a sturdy black, approaching the 
group from the copse. 

"And I care not if you were two dozen. You 
don't capsize me with your numbers, and I shan't go 
till it suits my pleasure, for either red-skin, or white 
skin, or black skin ; no, not while my name is — " 

" What ?" was the inquiry of the Englishman, as 
the speaker paused at the unuttered name ; but the 
person addressed smiled contemptuously at the curi- 
osity which the other had exhibited, and turned slightly 
away. As he did so, the Englishman again ad- 
dressed Sanutee, and proposed returning with him to 
Pocota-ligo. His anxiety on this point was clearly 
enough manifest to the Indian, who replied sternly, 

■' The chief Avill go alone. He wants not that the 
Coosaw-killer should darken the- lodge of Matiwan. 
Let Harrison" — and as he addressed the Englishman 
by his name, he placed his hand kindly upon his shoul- 
der, and his tones were more conciliatory — " let Har- 


rison go down to his ships — let him go with the pale- 
faces to the other lands. Has he not a mother tha 
looks for him at evening?" 

" Sanutee," said Harrison, fixing his eye upon him 
curiously — " wherefore should the English go upon 
the waters ?" 

" The Yemassees would look on the big woods, and 
call them their own. The Yemassees would be 

" Old chief — " exclaimed the Englishman, in a 
stern but low tone, while his quick, sharp eye seemed 
to explore the very recesses of the Indian's soul — 
" Old chief — thou hast spoken with the Spaniard." 

The Indian paused for an instant, but showed no 
signs of emotion or consciousness at a charge, which, 
at that period, and under the then existing circum- 
stances, almost involved the certainty of his hostility 
towards the Carolinians, with whom the Spaniards of 
Florida were perpetually at war. He replied, after an 
instant's hesitation, in a calm, fearless manner : — 

" Sanutee is a man — he is a father — he is a chief 
— the great chief of the Yemassee. Shall he come 
to the Coosaw-killer, and ask when he would loose 
his tongue ? Sanutee, when the swift hurricane runs 
along the woods, goes into the top of the tall pine, 
and speaks boldly to the Manneyto — shall he not 
speak to the English — shall he not speak to the Span- 
iard ? Does Harrison see Sanutee tremble, that his eye 
Jooke down into his bosom ? Sanutee has no fear." 

" I know it, chief — I know it — but I would have 
you without guile also. There is something wrong, 
chief, which you will not show me. I would speak to 
you of this, therefore I would go with you to Pocota- 
ligo- . 

" Pocota-ligo is for the Manneyto — it is holy ground 
— the great feast of the green corn is there. The white 
man may not go when the Yemassee would be alone." 

" But white men are in Pocota-ligo — is not Granger 
there, the fur trader ?" 

" He will go," replied the chief, evasively, and turn- 


ing away, as he did so, to depart ; but suddenly, with 
an air of more interest, returning to the spot where 
Harrison stood, seemingly meditating deeply, he again 
touched his arm, and spoke — 

" Harrison will go down to the great lakes with his 
people. Does the Coosaw-killer hear 1 Samitee is 
the wise chief of Yemassee." 

" I am afraid the wise chief of Yemassee is about 
10 do a great folly. But, for the present, Sanutee, let 
there be no misunderstanding between us and our peo- 
ple. Is there any thing of which you complain]" 

" Did Sanutee come on his knees to the English ? 
He begs not bread — he asks for no blanket." 

" True, Sanutee, I know all that — I know your 
pride, and that of your people ; and because I know 
it, if you have had wrong from our young men, I 
would have justice done you." 

" The Yemassee is not a child — he is strong, he 

has knife and hatchet — and his arrow goes straight to 

the heart. He begs not for the justice of the English-;—" 

" Yet, whether you beg for it or not, what wrong 

have they done you, that they have not been sorry ?" 

" Sorry — will sorry make the dog of Sanutee to 
live ?" 

" There you are wrong, Sanutee ; the dog assaulted 
the stranger, and though he might have been more 
gentle, and less hasty, what he did seems to have 
been done in self-defence. The deer was his game." 
" Ha, does Harrison see the arrow of Sanutee V 
and he pointed to the broken shaft still sticking in the 
side of the animal. 

" True, that is your mark, and would have been fatal 
after a time, without the aid of gunshot. The other 
was more immediate in effect." 

" It is well. Sanutee speaks not for the meat, nor 
for the dog. He begs no justice from the English, 
and their braves may go to the far lands in their canoes, 
or they may hold fast to the land which is the Yemas- 
see's. The sun and the storm are brothers — Sanutee 
has said." 


Harrison was about to reply, when his eye caught 
the outline of another person approaching the scene. 
He was led to observe him, by noticing the glance of 
the sailor anxiously fixed in the same direction. That 
personage had cooled off" singularly in his savagenes? 
of mood, and had been a close and attentive listener 
to the dialogue just narrated. His earnestness had 
not passed unobserved by the Englishman, whose keen- 
ness of sense, not less than of vision, had discovered 
something more in the manner of the sailor than was 
intended for the eye. Following closely his gaze, 
while still arguing with Sanutee, he discovered in the 
new comer the person of one of the most subtle 
chiefs of the Yemassee nation — a dark, brave, col- 
lected malignant, by name Ishiagaska. A glance of 
recognition passed over the countenance of the sailor, 
but the features of the savage were immoveable. 
Harrison watched both of them, as the new comer ap- 
proached, and he was satisfied from the expression 
of the sailor that they knew each other. Once assured 
of this, he determined in his own mind that his 
presence should offer no sort of interruption to their 
freedom ; and, with a few words to Ishiagaska and 
Sanutee, in the shape of civil wishes and a passing 
inquiry, the Englishman, who, from his past conduct 
in the war of the Carolinians with the Coosaws, had 
acquired among the Yemassees, according to the Indian 
fashion, the imposing epithet, so frequently used in 
the foregoing scene by Sanutee, of Coosah-moray-te — 
or, as it has been Englished, the killer of the Coosaws 
— took his departure from the scene, followed by the 
black slave Hector. As he left the group he approach- 
ed the sailor, who stood a little apart from the Indians, 
and with a whisper, addressed him in a sentence which 
he intended should be a test. 

" Hark ye, Ajax ; take safe advice, and be out of the 
woods as soon as you can, or you will have a long 
arrow sticking in your ribs." 

The blunt sense of the sailor did not see farther 
than the ostensible object of the counsel thus conveyed, 


and his answer confirmed, to some extent, the pre- 
vious impression of Harrison touching his acquaint- 
ance with Ishiagaska. 

"Keep your advice for a better occasion, and be 
d — d to you, for a conceited whipper-snapper as you 
are. You are more likely to feel the arrow than I am, 
and so look to it." 

Harrison noted well the speech, which in itself had 
little meaning ; but it conveyed a consciousness of 
security on the part of the seaman, after his previous 
combat with Sanutee, greatly out of place, unless he 
possessed some secret resources upon which to rely. 
The instant sense of Harrison readily felt this ; but 
apart from that, there was something so sinister and 
so assured in the glance of the speaker, accompany- 
ing his words, that Harrison did not longer doubt the 
justice of his conjecture. He saw that there was 
business between the seaman and the last-mentioned 
Indian. He had other reasons for this belief, which 
the progress of events will show. Contenting him- 
self with what had been said, he turned away with 
a lively remark to the group at parting, and, followed 
by Hector, was very soon deeply buried in the neigh- 
bouring forest. 


" Go — scan his course, pursue him to the last, 
Hear what he counsels, note thou well his glance. 
For the untutored eye hath its own truth, 
When the tongue speaks in falsehood." 

Harrison, followed closely by his slave, silently- 
entered the forest, and was soon buried in subjects 
of deep meditation, which, hidden as yet from us, 
were in his estimation of paramount importance. His 
elastic temper and perceptive sense failed at this 


moment to suggest to him any of those thousand 
objects of contemplation in which he usually took 
delight. The surrounding prospect was unseen — 
the hum of the woods, the cheering cry of bird and 
grasshopper, equally unheeded ; and for some time 
after leaving the scene and actors of the preceding 
chapter, he continued in a state of mental abstraction, 
perfectly mysterious to his attendant. Hector, though 
a slave, was a favourite, and his offices were rather 
those of the humble companion than of the servant. 
He regarded the present habit of his master with no 
little wonderment. In truth, Harrison was not often 
in the mood to pass over and disregard the varieties of 
the surrounding scenery, in a world so new, as at the 
present moment. On the contrary, he was one of 
those men, of wonderful common sense, who could 
readily, at all times, associate the mood of most ex- 
travagance and life with that of the most every-day 
concern. Cheerful, animated, playfully and soon ex- 
cited, he was one of those singular combinations we 
do not often meet with, in which constitutional enthu- 
siasm and animal life, in a development of extrava- 
gance sometimes little short of madness, are singularly 
enough mingled up with a capacity equal to the most 
trying requisitions of necessity, and the most sober 
habits of reflection. Unusually abstracted as he now 
appeared to the negro, the latter, though a favourite, 
knew better than to break in upon his mood, and sim- 
ply kept close at hand, to meet any call that might be 
made upon his attention. By this time they had 
reached a small knoll of green overlooking the river, 
which, swollen by a late freshet, though at its full and 
falling, had overflowed its banks, and now ran along 
with some rapidity below them. Beyond and dowi 
the stream, a few miles off, lay the little vessel to 
which we have already given a moment's attention. 
Her presence seemed to be as mysterious in the eye 
of Harrison, as in a previous passage it had appeared 
to that of Sanutee. Dimly outlined in the distance, 
a slender shadow darkening an otherwise clear and 


mirror-like surface, she lay sleeping, as it were, upon 
the water, not a sail* in motion, and no gaudy ensign 
streaming from her tops. 

" Hector," said his master, calling the slave, while 
he threw himself lazily along the knoll, and motioned, 
the negro near him : " Hector." 

" Sa— Mossa." 

" You marked that sailor fellow, did you ?" 

"Yes, Mossa." 

" What is he ; what do you think of him !" 

" Me tink noting about 'em, sa. — Nebber see 'em 
afore — no like he look." 

" Nor I, Hector — nor I. He comes for no good, 
and we must see to him." 

" I tiuk so, Mossa." 

" Now— look down the river. When did that strange 
vessel come np V 

" Nebber see 'em till dis morning, Mossa, but speck 
he come up yesserday. Mass Nichol. de doctor, 
wha' talk so big— da him fuss show 'em to me dis 

" What said Nichols V 

" He say 'twas English ship ; den he say 'twas no 
English, 'twas Dutch— but he soon change he mind, 
and say 'twas little Dutch and little Spaniard : after 
dat he make long speech to young Mass Grayson." 

" What said Grayson?" 

" He laugh at de doctor, make de doctor cross, and 
den he cuss me for a dam black rascal." 

" That made you cross too, eh V 

" Certain, Mossa ; 'cause Mass Nichol hab no re- 
spectability for nigger in 'em, and talk widout make 
proper osservation." 

" Well, no matter. But did Grayson say any thing 
of the vessel ?" 

" He look at 'em well, Mossa, but he no say noting; 
but wid long stick he write letters in de sand. Dat 
young Grayson, Mass Charles — he strange gentle- 
man — berry strange gentleman." 

" How often must I tell you, Hector, not to call me 


by any name here but Gabriel Harrison ? will you 
never remember, you scoundrel?*' 

" Ax pardon, Mossa — 'member next time." 

" Do so, old boy, or we quarrel : — and now, hark 
you, Hector, since you know nothing of this vessel, 
I'll make you wiser. Look down over to Moccasin 
Point — under the long grass at the edge, and half- 
covered by the canes, and tell me what you see 
there ?" 

" Da boat, Mossa. — I swear da boat. Something 
dark lie in de bottom." 

" That is a boat from the vessel, and what you see 
lying dark in the bottom, are the two sailors that 
rowed it up. That sailor-fellow came in it, and he is 
the captain. Now, what does he come for., do you 
think ?" 

" Speck, sa, he come for buy skins frq^i de Injins." 

" No : — that craft is no trader. She carries guns, 
but conceals them with box and paiiH. She is built to 
run and fight, not to carry. I looked on her closely 
this morning. Her paint is Spanish, not English. 
Besides, if she were English, what would she be 
doing here I Why run up this river, without stopping 
at Charlestown or Port Royal— why keep from the land- 
ing here, avoiding the whites ; and why is her officer 
pushing up into the Indian country beyond our pur- 
chase ?" 

" He hab 'ting for sell de Injins, I speck, Mossa." 

" Scarcely — they have nothing to buy with ; it is 
only a few days since Granger came up from Port 
Royal, where he had carried all the skins of their last 
great hunt, and it will be two weeks at least before 
they go on another. No — no. They get from us what 
we are willing to sell them ; and this vessel brings 
them those things which they cannot get from us— 
fire-arms and ammunition, Hector." 

" You tink so, Mossa." 

" You shall find out for both of us, Hector. Are 
your eyes open 


" Yes Mossa, I can sing — 


" ' Possum up a gum-tree, 
Racoon in de hollow, 
In de grass de yellow snake, 
In de clay de swallow.' " 

" Evidence enough — now, hear me. This sailor 
fellow comes from St. Augustine, and brings arms 
to the Yemassees. I know it, else why should he 
linger behind with Sanutee and Ishiagaska, after his 
quarrelling with the old chief, unless he knew of 
something which must secure his protection ? I saw 
his look of recognition to Ishiagaska, although the 
savage, more cunning than himself, kept his eye cold — 
and — yes, it must be so. You shall go," said his 
master, half musingly, half direct. " You shall go. 
When did Granger cross to Pocota-ligo f" 

" Dis morning, Mossa." 

" Did the commissioners go with him I" 

" No, Mossa — only tree gentlemans gone wid 

" Who were they V: 

" Sir Edmund Bellinger, sa — lib close 'pon Ashee- 
poh — Mass Stephen Latham, and nodder — I no hab he 

" Very well — they will answer well enough for 
commissioners. Where have you left Dugdale ?" 

" I left* um wid de blacksmith, Mossa — him dat lib 
down pass de Chief Bluff." 

" Good ; and now, Hector, you must take track after 
this sailor." 

"Off hand, Mossa?" 

" Yes, at once. Take the woods here, and make 
the sweep of the cypress, so as to get round them. 
Keep clear of the river, for that sailor will make no 
bones of carrying you off to St. Augustine, or to the 
West Indies. Watch if he goes with the Indians. 
See all that you can of their movements, and let them 
not see you. Should they find you out, be as stupid 
as a pine stump." 

" And whay I for find you, Mossa, when I come 
back? At de parson's, I speck." — The slave smiled 

V« I. 5 


knowingly as he uttered the last member of the sen- 
tence, and looked significantly into the face of his 
master, with a sidelong glance, his mouth at the same 
time showing his full white tuscular array from ear to 

" Perhaps so," said his master, quietly and without 
seeming to observe the peculiar expression of his ser- 
vant's face — " perhaps so, if you come back soon. I 
shall be there for a while, but to-night you will proba- 
bly find me at the Block House. Away now, and see 
that you sleep not with your eye open till they trap 

" Ha, Mossa. Dat eye must be bright like de moon 
for trap Hector." 

" I hope so — keep watchful, for if that sailor fellow 
puts hands upon you, he will cut your throat as 
freely as he did the dog's, and probably a thought 

Promising strict watchfulness, the negro took his 
way back into the woods, closely following the direc- 
tions of his master. Harrison, in the meanwhile, 
having despatched this duty so far, rose buoyantly from 
the turf, and throwing aside the air of sluggishness 
which for the last half hour had invested him, darted 
forward in a fast walk in the direction of the white 
settlements ; still, however, keeping as nearly as he 
might, to the banks of the river, and still with an eye 
that closely scanned at intervals the appearance of 
the little vessel which, as we have seen, had occasioned 
so much doubt and inquiry. It was not often that a 
vessel of her make and size had been seen up thai 
little, insulated river; and as, from the knowledge o\ 
Harrison, there could be little or no motive of trade 
for such craft in that quarter — the small business in- 
tercourse of the whites with the Indians being soor 
transacted, and through mediums far less imposing- — 
the suspicions of the Englishman were not a little 
excited, particularly as he had known for some time 
the increasing discontent of the savages. The fact. 
too, that the vessel was a stranger, and that her crew 


and captain had kept studiously aloof from the whites, 
and had sent their boat to land at a point actually 
within the Indian boundary, was of itself enough to 
instigate such surmises. The ready intelligence of 
Harrison at once associated the facts and inferences 
with a political object : and being also aware by 
previous information that Spanish guarda-costas, as the 
cutters employed at St. Augustine for the protection 
of the coast were styled, had been seen to put into 
almost every river and creek in the English territory 
from St. Mary's to Hatteras, and within a short period 
of time, the connected circumstances were well calcula- 
ted to excite the scrutiny of all well-intentioned citizens. 
The settlement of the English in Carolina, though 
advancing with wonderful rapidity, was yet in its 
infancy ; and the great jealousy which their progress 
had occasioned in the minds of their Indian neighbours, 
was not a little stimulated in its tenour and develop- 
ment by the artifices of the neighbouring Spaniards, 
as well of St. Augustine as of the Island of Cuba. 
The utmost degree of caution against enemies so 
powerful and so acted upon was absolutely necessary, 
and we shall comprehend to its full the extent of this 
consciousness, after repeated sufferings had taught 
them providence, when we learn from the historians 
that it was not long from this period when the settlers 
upon the coast were compelled to gather oysters for 
their subsistence with one hand, while carrying fire- 
arms in the other for their protection. At this time, 
however, unhappily for the colony, such a degree of 
watchfulness was entirely unknown. Thoughtless as 
ever, the great mass is always slow to note and pre- 
pare against, those forewarning evidences of that 
change which is at all times going on around them. 
The counsellings of nature and of experience are 
seldom heeded by the inconsiderate many until their 
promises are realized, and then beyond the control 
which would have converted them into agents with the 
almost certain prospect of advantageous results. It is 
fortunate, perhaps, for mankind, that there are some few 
C 9 


minds always in advance, and for ever preparing the 
way for society, perishing freely themselves that the 
species may have victory. Perhaps, indeed, patriotism 
itself would lack something of its stimulating charactei, 
if martyrdom did not follow its labours and its love 
for man. 

Harrison, active in perceiving, decisive in providing 
against events, with a sort of intuition, had traced out 
a crowd of circumstances, of most imposing character 
and number, in the coming hours, of which few if any 
in the colony beside himself had any idea. He an- 
nexed no small importance to the seeming trifle ; and 
his mind was deeply interested in all the changes 
going on in the province. Perhaps it was his par- 
ticular charge to note these things — his station, pursuit 
— his duty, which, by imposing upon him some of the 
leading responsibilities of the infant society in which 
he lived, had made him more ready in such an ex- 
ercise than was common among those around him. 
On this point we can now say nothing, being as yet 
quite as ignorant as those who go along with us. As 
we proceed we shall probably all grow wiser. 

As Harrison thus rambled downward along the 
river's banks, a friendly voice hallooed to him from its 
bosom, where apettiauger, urged by a couple of sinewy 
rowers, was heaving to the shore. 

" Halloo, captain," cried one of the men — " I'm so 
glad to see you." 

" Ah, Grayson," he exclaimed to the one, " how 
do you fare ?" — to the other, " Master Grayson, I give 
you courtesy." 

The two men were brothers, and the difference made 
in Harrison's address between the two, simply indi- 
cated the different degrees of intimacy between them 
and himself. 

" We've been hunting, captain, and have had glorious 
sport," said the elder of the brothers, known as Walter 
Grayson — " two fine bucks and a doe — shall we have 
you to sup with us to-night V 

" Hold me willing, Grayson, but not ready. I have 


labours for to-night will keep me from you. But I 
shall tax your hospitality' before the venison's out. 
Make my respects to the old lady, your mother ; and 
if you can let me see you at the Block House to- 
morrow, early morning, do so, and hold me indebted." 

" I will be there, captain, God willing, and shall do 
as you ask. I'm sorry you can't come to-night." 

" So am not I," said the younger Grayson, as, 
making his acknowledgments and farewell, Harrison 
pushed out of sight and re-entered the forest. The 
boat touched the shore, and the brothers leaped out, 
pursuing their talk, and taking out their game as they 
did so. 

" So am not I," repeated the younger brother, gloomily : 
— " I would see as little of that man as possible." 

"And why, Hugh? In what does he offend you?" 
was the inquiry of his companion. 

" I know not — but he does offend me, and I hate him, 
thoroughly hate him." 

" And wherefore, Hugh ? what has he done — what 
said? You have seen but little of him to judge. Go 
with me to-morrow to the Block House — see him — talk 
with him. You will find him a noble gentleman." 

And the two brothers continued the subject while 
moving homeward with the spoil. 

" I would not see him, though I doubt not what you 
say. I would rather that my impressions of him should 
remain as they are." 

" Hugh Grayson — your perversity comes from a cause 
you would blush that I should know — you dislike him, 
brother, because Bess Matthews does not." 

The younger brother threw from his shoulder the 
carcass of the deer which he carried, and with a 
broken speech, but a fierce and fixed gesture, con- 
fronted the speaker. 

" Walter Grayson — yrou are my brother — you are 
my brother ; — but do not speak on this subject again. 
I am perverse — I am unreasonable — be it so — I can- 
not be other than I am ; and, as you love me, bear 
with it while you may. But urge me no more in this 


matter. I cannot like that man for many reasons, and 
noi the least of these is, that I cannot so readily 
as yourself acknowledge his superiority, while, per- 
haps, not less than yourself, I cannot help but know it. 
My pride is to feel my independence — it is for you to 
desire control, were it only for the connexion and the 
sympathy which it brings to you. You are one of the 
million who make tyrants. Go — worship him yourself, 
but do not call upon me to do likewise." 

" Take up the meat, brother, and be not wroth ; above 
all things try and remember, in order that your mood 
may be kept in subjection — try and remember our old 

A few more words of sullen dialogue between them, 
and the two brothers passed into a narrow pathway 
leading to a cottage, where, at no great distance, they 


" Ye may not with a word define 

The love that lightens o'er her face, 
That makes her glance a glance divine, 

Fresh caught from heaven, its native place — 
And in her heart, as in her eye, 

A spirit lovely as serene — ■ 
Makes of each charm some deity, 

Well worshipp'd, though perhaps unseen." 

The soft sunset of April, of an April sky in C. 
lina, lay beautifully over the scene that afternoon. 
Imbowered in trees, with a gentle esplanade, running 
down to the river, stood the pretty yet modest cottage, 
in which lived the pastor of the settlement, John 
Matthews, his wife, and daughter Elizabeth. The 
dwelling was prettily enclosed with sheltering groves 
— through which, at spots here and there, peered forth 
its well whitewashed veranda. The river, a few hun- 
dred yards in front, wound pleasantly along, making 


a circuitous sweep just at that point, which left the 
cottage upon something like an isthmus, and made it 
a prominent object to the eye in an approach from 
cither end of the stream. The site had been felici- 
tously chosen ; and the pains taken with it had suf- 
ficiently improved the rude location to show how much 
may be effected by art, when employed in arran- 
ging the toilet, and in decorating the wild beauties 
of her country cousin. The house itself was rude 
enough — like those of the region generally, having 
been built of logs, put together as closely as the mate- 
rial would permit, and affording only a couple of rooms 
in front, to which the additional shed contributed two 
more, employed as sleeping apartments. Having 
shared, however, something of the whitewash which 
had been employed upon the veranda, the little fabric 
wore a cheerful appearance, which proved that the 
pains taken with it had not been entirely thrown away 
upon the coarse material of which it had been con- 
structed. We should not forget to insist upon the 
porch or portico of four columns, formed of slender 
pines decapitated for the purpose, which, having its 
distinct roof, formed the entrance through the piazza to 
the humble cottage. The clustering vines, too, hanging 
fantastically over the entrance, almost forbidding in- 
gress, furnished proof enough of the presence and 
agency of that sweet taste, which, lovely of itself, 
has yet an added attraction when coupled with the 
beauty and the purity of woman. 

Gabriel Harrison, as our new acquaintance has been 
^paused to style himself, was now seen emerging from 
the copse which grew alongside the river, and ap- 
proaching the cottage. Without scruple lifting the 
wooden latch which secured the gate of the little 
paling fence running around it, he slowly moved up 
to the entrance. His approach, however, had not 
been entirely unobserved. A bright pair of eyes, 
and a laughing, young, even girlish face were peering 
through the green leaves which almost covered it in. 
As the glance met his own, the expression of sobe? 


gravity and thoughtfulness departed from his counte- 
nance ; and he now seemed only the playful, wild, 
thoughtless, and gentle-natured being she had been 
heretofore accustomed to regard him. 

" Ah, Bess ; dear Bess — still the s^|me, my beauty ; 
still the laughing, the lovely, the star-eyed — " 

" Hush, hush, you noisy and wicked — not so loud ; 
mother is busily engaged in her evening nap, and 
that long tongue of yours will not make it sounder." 

"A sweet warning, Bess— but what then — if we 
talk not, we are like to have a dull time of it." 

" And if you do, and she wakes without having her 
nap out, we are like to have a cross time of it ; and 
so, judge for yourself which you would best like." 

" I'm dumb, — speechless, my beauty, as a jay on a 
visit ; and see then what you'll lose." 

» What ?" 

"My fine speeches — your own praise — no more 
dears, and loves, and beauties. My tongue and your 
ears will entirely forget their old acquaintance ; and 
there will be but a single mode of keeping any of out 
memories alive." 

" How is that — what mode ?" 

" An old song tells us — 

" ' The lips of the dumh may speak of love, 
Though the words may die in a kiss — 
And—' " 

" Will you never be quiet, Gabriel ?" 

" How can I, with so much that is disquieting 
near me 1 Quiet, indeed, — why Bess, I never look 
upon you — ay, for that matter, I never think of 
you, but my heart beats, and my veins tingle, and 
my pulses bound, and all is confusion in mj 
senses. You are my disquiet, far and near — and you 
know not, dear Bess, how much I have longed, during 
the last spell of absence, to be near, and again to see 

" Oh, I heed not your flattery. Longed lor me, 
indeed, and so long away. Why, where have you 


been all this while, and what is the craft, Gabriel 
which keeps you away ? — am I never to know the 
secret ?" 

'' Not yet, not yet, sweetest ; but a little while, my 
most impatient beauty ; but a little while, and you shall 
know all and every thing." 

" Shall I ? but, ah ! how long have you told me 
so — years, I'm sure — " 

" Scarcely months, Bess — your heart is your book- 

" Well, months — for months you have promised me 
— but a little while, and you shall know all ; and here 
I've told you all my secrets, as if you had a right to 
know them." 

" Have I not ? — if my craft, Bess, were only my 
secret — if much that belongs to others did not depend 
upon it — if, indeed, success in its pursuit were not 
greatly risked by its exposure, you should have heard 
it with the same sentence which just told you how 
dear you were to me. But only by secrecy can my 
pursuit be successfully accomplished. Besides, Bess, 
as it concerns others, the right to yield it, even to 
such sweet custody as your own, is not with me." 

" But, Gabriel, I can surely keep it safely." 

" How can you, Bess — since, as a dutiful child, you 
are bound to let your mother share in all your knowl- 
edge ? She knows of our love ; does she not ?" 

" Yes, yes, and she is glad to know — she approves 
of it. And so, Gabriel — forgive me, but I am very anx- 
ious — and so you can't tell me what is the craft you 
pursue 1" and she looked very persuasive as she spoke. 

" I fear me, Bess, if you once knew my craft, you 
would discover that our love was all a mistake. You 
would learn to unlove much faster than you ever 
learned to love." 

" Nonsense, Gabriel — you know that is impossible. ; 

" A thousand thanks, Bess, for the assurance ; bin 
are you sure — suppose now, I may be a pedler, doing 
the same business with Granger, probably his partner 
— only think." 



"That cannot be — I know better than that — I'm 
certain it is not so." 

" And why not, Beautiful." 

" Be dflhe, — and, Gabriel, cease calling me nick- 
names, or I'll leave you. I won't suffer it. You make 
quite too free." 

" Do I, Bess, — well, I'm very sorry — but I can'l 
help it, half the time, I assure you. It's my nature 
— I was born so, and have been so from the cradle up. 
The very first words I uttered, were so many nick- 
names, and in calling my own papa, would you be- 
lieve it, I could never get farther than the pap." 

" Obstinate — incorrigible man !*' 

" Dear, delightful, mischievous woman. — But, Bess, 
by what are you assured I am no trader ?" 

" By many things, Gabriel — by look, language, 
gesture, manner — your face, your speech. — All satisfy 
me that you are no trader, but a gentleman — like the 
brave cavaliers that stood by King Charles." 

" A dangerous comparison, Bess, if your old Puri- 
tan sire could hear it. What ! the daughter of the 
grave Pastor Matthews thinking well of the cavaliers 
— why, Bess, let him but guess at such irreverence, 
and he'll be down upon you, thirty thousand strong, 
in scolds and sermons." 

" Hush — don't speak of papa after that fashion. 
It's true, he talks hardly of the cavaliers — and I think 
well of those he talks ill of — so much for your teach- 
ing, Gabriel — you are to blame. But he loves me ; 
and that's enough to make me respect his opinions, 
and to love him, in spite of them." 

" You think he loves you, Bess — and doubtlessly 
he does, as who could otherwise — but, is it not strange 
that he does not love you enough to desire your hap- 
piness ?" 

" Why, so he does." 

" How can that be, Bess, when he still refuses you 
to me ?" 

" And are you so sure, Gabriel, that his consent 
would have that effect ?" inquired the maiden, slowly, 


half pensively, half playfully, with a look nevertheless 
downcast, and a cheek that wore a blush after the 
prettiest manner. Harrison passed his arm about her 
person, and with a tone and countenance something 
graver than usual, but full of tenderness, replied : — 

" You do not doubt it yourself, dearest. I'm sure 
you do not. Be satisfied of it, so far as a warm affec- 
tion, and a thought studious to unite with your own, 
can give happiness to mortal. If you are not assured 
by this time, no word from me can make you more so. 
True, Bess — I am wild — perhaps rash and frivolous 
— foolish, and in some things, headstrong and obstinate 
enough ; but the love for you, Bess, which I have 
always felt, I have felt as a serious and absorbing 
concern, predominating over all other objects of my 
existence. Let me be at the wildest — the wayward- 
est — as full of irregular impulse as I may be, and 
your name, and the thought of you, bring me back to 
myself, bind me down, and take all wilfulness from 
my spirit. It is true, Bess, true, by the blessed 
sunlight that gives us its smile and its promise while 
passing from our sight — but this you knew before, and 
only desired its re-assertion, because — " 

" Because what, Gabriel V 

" Because the assurance is so sweet to your ears, 
that, you could not have it too often repeated." 

" Oh, abominable — thus it is, you destroy all the 
grace of your pretty speeches. But, you mistake the 
sex, if you suppose we care for your vows on this 
subject — knowing, as we do, that you are compelled to 
love us, we take the assurance for granted." 

" I grant you ; but the case is yours also. Love is 
a mutual necessity ; and were it not that young hearts 
are still old hypocrites, the general truth would have 
long since been admitted ; but — " 

He was interrupted at this point of the dialogue, 
which, in spite of all the warnings of the maiden, had 
been carried on in the warmth of its progress some- 
what more loudly than was absolutely necessary, 
and brought back to a perception of the error by a 


voice of inquiry from within, demanding of Bess with 
wnom she spoke. 

'•' With Gabriel — with Captain Harrison, — mother." 
" Well, why don't you bring him in ? Have you for- 
gotten your manners, Betsy ?•" 

"' No, mother, but — come in, Gabriel, come in :" and 
as she spoke she extended her hand, which he pas- 
sionately carried to his lips, and resolutely maintained 
there, in spite of all her resistance, while passing into 
the entrance and before reaching the apartment. The 
good old dame, a tidy, well-natured antique, received 
the visiter with regard and kindness, and though evi- 
dently but half recovered from a sound nap, proceeded 
to chatter with him and at him with all the garrulous 
unscrupulosity of age. Harrison, with that playful 
frankness which formed so large a portion of his man- 
ner, and without any effort, had contrived long since to 
make himself a friend in the mother of his sweet-heart ; 
and knowing her foible, he now contented himself with 
provoking the conversation, prompting the choice of 
material, and leaving the tongue of the old lady at her 
own pleasure to pursue it : he, in the meanwhile, con- 
triving that sort of chat, through the medium of looks 
and glances with the daughter, so grateful in all simi- 
lar cases to young people, and which at the same time 
offered no manner of obstruction to the employment of 
the mother. It was not long before Mr. Matthews, 
the pastor himself, made his appearance, and the cour- 
tesies of his reception were duly extended by him to 
the guest of his wife and daughter ; but there seemed 
a something of backwardness, a chilly repulsiveness 
in the manner of the old gentleman, quite repugnant to 
the habits of the country, and not less so to the feel- 
ings of Harrison, which, for a brief period, had the 
effect of freezing not a little even of the frank exuber- 
ance of that personage himself. The old man was an 
ascetic — a stern Presbyterian — one of the ultra-non- 
conformists — and not a little annoyed at that period, 
and 10 the new country, by the course of government, 
and plan of legislation pursued by the proprietary 


lords of the province, which, in the end, brought about 
a revolution hi Carolina resulting in the transfer 
of their colonial right and the restoration of their char- 
ter to the crown. The leading proprietary lords were 
generally of the church of England, and with all the 
bigotry of the zealot, forgetting, and in violation of their 
strict pledges, given at the settlement of the colony, 
and through which they made the acquisition of a 
large body of their most valuable population, not to in- 
terfere in the popular religion — they proceeded, soon 
after the colony began to flourish, to the establishment 
of a regular church, and, from step to step, had at 
length gone so far as actually to exclude from all 
representation in the colonial assemblies, such por- 
tions of the country as were chiefly settled by other 
sects. The region in which we find our story, shared 
in this exclusion ; and with a man like Matthews, a 
stern, sour stickler— a good man enough, but not an 
overwise one — wedded to old habits and prejudices, 
and perhaps like a very extensive class, one, who, pre- 
serving forms, might with little difficulty be persuaded 
to throw aside principles — with such a man, the na- 
tive acerbity of his sect might be readily supposed to 
undergo vast increase and exercise, from the political 
disabilities thus warring with his religious professions. 
He was a bigot himself, and with the power, would 
doubtless have tyrannised after a similar fashion. The 
world with him was what he could take in with his 
eye, or control within the sound of his voice. He could 
not be brought to understand, that climates and condi- 
tions should be various, and that the popular good, in a 
strict reference to the mind of man, demanded that 
people should everywhere differ in manner and opin- 
on. He wore clothes after a different fashion from 
those who ruled, and the difference was vital ; but he 
perfectly agreed with those in power that there should 
be a prescribed standard by which the opinions of all 
persons should be regulated ; and sUch a point as this 
forms the fauii for which, forgetful all the while of pro- 
priety, not less than of truth, so many thousands are 
Vol. I. 6 


ready for the stake and the sacrifice. But though as 
great a bigot as any of his neighbours, Matthews yet 
felt how very uncomfortable it was to be in a minority; 
and the persecutions to which his sect had been ex- 
posed in Carolina, where they had been taught to look 
for every form of indulgence, had made him not less 
hostile towards the government than bitter in his feel- 
ings and relationship to society. To him, the manners 
of Harrison, — his dashing, free, unrestrainable carriage, 
as it was directly in the teeth of Puritan usage, was 
particularly offensive ; and at this moment some newly 
proposed exactions of the proprietors in England, hav- 
ing for their object something more of religious reform, 
had almost determined many of the Puritans to remove 
from the colony, and place themselves under the more 
gentle and inviting rule of Penn, then beginning to at- 
tract all eyes to the singularly pacific and wonderfully 
successful government of his establishment. Having 
this character, and perplexed with these thoughts, old 
Matthews was in no mood to look favourably upon the 
suit of Harrison. For a little while after his entrance 
the dialogue was strained and chilling, and Harrison 
himself grew dull under its influence, while Bess looked 
every now and then doubtfully, now to her father and 
now to her lover, not a little heedful of the increased 
sternness which lowered upon the features of the old 
man. Some family duties at length demanding the 
absence of the old lady, Bess took occasion to follow ; 
and the circumstance seemed to afford the pastor a 
chance for the conversation which he desired. 

" Master Harrison," said he, gravely, " I have just 
returned from a visit to Port Royal Island, and from 
thence to Charlestown." 

" Indeed, sir — I was told you had been absent, but 
knew not certainly where you had gone. How did 
you travel ?" 

" By canoe, sir. to Port Royal, and then by Miller's 
sloop to Charlestown." 

"Did you find all things well, sir, in that quarter, 
and was there any thing from England ?" 


" All things were well, sir ; there had been a vessel 
with settlers from England." 

"What news, sir — what news ?" 

" The death of her late majesty, Queen Anne, whom 
God receive — " 

; ' Amen ! — but the throne — " was the impatient in- 
quiry. " The succession V 

" The throne, sir, is filled by the Elector of Hano- 
ver — " 

" Now, may I hear falsely, for I would not heed 
this tale ! What — was there no struggle for the Stu- 
art—no stroke ? — now shame on the people so ready 
for the chain ;" and as Harrison spoke, he rose with a 
brow deeply wrinkled with thought and indignation, 
and paced hurriedly over the floor. 

" You are fast, too fast, Master Harrison ; there had 
been strife, and a brief struggle, though, happily for the 
nation, a successless one, to lift once more into the high 
places of power that bloody and witless family — 
the slayers and the persecutors of the saints. But 
thanks be to the God who breathed upon the forces of 
the foe, and shrunk up their sinews. The strife is at 
rest there ; but when, oh Lord, shall the persecutions 
of thy servants cease here, even in thy own untrodden 
places !" 

The old man paused, while, without seeming to no- 
tice well what he had last said, Harrison continued to 
pace the floor in deep meditation. At length the pas- 
tor again addressed him, though in a different tone and 
upon a very different subject. 

" Master Harrison," said he, " I have told thee that 
I have been to Charlestown — perhaps I should tell thee 
that it would have been my pleasure to meet with 
thee there." 

" I have been from Charlestown some weeks, sir," 
was the somewhat hurried reply. " I have had labours 
upon the Ashe-poo, and even to the waters of the Sa- 

"I doubt not — I doubt not, Master Harrison," was 
he sober response ; " thy craft carries thee far, and 


thy labours are manifold ; but what is that craft, Mas- 
ter Harrison ? and, while I have it upon my lips, let me 
say, that it was matter of strange surprise in my mind, 
when 1 asked after thee in Charlestown, not to find any 
wholesome citizen who could point out thy lodgings, 
or to whom thy mere name was a thing familiar. Vainly 
did I ask after thee — none said for thee, Master Har- 
rison is a good man and true, and his works are sound 
and sightworthy." 

" Indeed — the savages" — spoke the person addressed 
with a most provoking air of indifference — " and so, 
Mr. Matthews, your curiosity went without' profit in 
either of those places ?" 

"Entirely, sir — and I would even havo sought that 
worthy gentleman, the Lord Craven, for his knowledge 
of thee, if he had aught, but that he was gone forth 
upon a journey;" replied the old gentleman, with an 
air of much simplicity. 

" That would have been going far for thy curiosity, 
sir — very far — and it would be lifting a poor gentleman 
like myself into undeserving notice, to have sought 
for him at the hands of the Governor Craven." 

" Thou speakest lightly of my quest, Master Har- 
rison, as, indeed, it is too much thy wont to speak of 
all other things," was the grave response of Matthews ; 
" but the subject of my inquiry was too important 
to the wellbeing of my family, to be indifferent to 

"And so, sir, there were no Harrisons in Charles- 
town — none in Port Royal ?" 

" Harrisons there were — " 

" True, true, sir — " said Harrison, breaking in — 
" true, true — Harrisons there were, but none of them 
the true. There was no Gabriel among the saints of 
those places." 

" Speak not so irreverently, sir, — if I may crave so 
much from one who seems usually indifferent to nvy 
desires, however regardful he may be at all times of 
his own." 

" Not so seriously, Mr. Matthews," replied the oth- 


er, now changing his tone to a business and straight- 
forward character. " Not so seriously, sir, if you 
please ; you are quite too grave in this matter, by half, 
and allow nothing for the ways of one who, perhaps, 
is not a jot more extravagant in his than you are in 
yours. Permit me to say, sir, that a little more plain 
confidence in Gabriel Harrison would have saved thee 
the unnecessary and unprofitable trouble thou hast 
given thyself in Charlestown. I knew well enough, 
and should willingly have assured thee that thy search 
after Gabriel Harrison in Charlestown would be as 
wild as that of the old Spaniard among the barrens 
of Florida for the waters of an eternal youth. He has 
neither chick nor child, nor friend nor servant, either in 
Charlestown or in Port Royal, and men there may not 
well answer for one whom they do not often see un- 
less as the stranger. Gabriel Harrison lives not in 
those places, Master Matthews." 

" It is not where he lives not, that I seek to know — 
to this thou hast spoken only, Master Harrison — wilt 
thou now condescend to say where he does live, where 
his name and person may be known, where his dwel- 
ling and his connexions may be found — what is his 
craft, what his condition ?" 

" A different inquiry that, Mr. Matthews, and one 
rather more difficult to answer — now, at least. I must 
say to you, sir, as I did before, when first speaking 
with you on the subject of your daughter, I am of 
good family and connexions, drive no servile or dishon- 
ourable craft, am one thou shalt not be ashamed of, 
neither thou nor thy daughter ; and though now en- 
gaged in a pursuit which makes it necessary that much 
of my own concerns be kept for a time in close secrecy, 
yet the day will come, and I look for it to come ere 
long, when all shall be known, and thou shalt have no 
reason to regret thy confidence in the stranger. For 
the present, I can tell thee no more." 

" This will not do for me, Master Harrison — it will 
not serve a father. On a promise so imperfect, I can- 
not risk the good name and the happiness of my child; 


and, let me add to thee, Master Harrison, that there 
are other objections which gather in my mind, hostile 
to thy claim, even were these taken away." 

" Ha ! what other objections, sir — speak." 

" Many, sir, nor the least of these, Jhy great levity 
of speech and manner, which is s unbecoming in one 
having an immortal soul, and discreditable to one of 
thy age." 

" My" age, indeed, sir — my youth you will surely 
phrase it upon suggestion, for I do not mark more than 
thirty, and would have neither Bess nor yourself count 
upon me for a greater supply of years." 

" It is unbecoming, sir, in any age, and in you shows 
itself quite too frequently. Then, sir, your tone and 
language, contemptuous of many things which the lover 
of religion is taught to venerate, too greatly savour of 
that ribald court and reign which made merry at the 
work of the Creator, and the persecution of his crea- 
tures, and drank from a rich cup where the wine of 
drunkenness and the blood of the saints were mixed 
together in most lavish profusion. You sing, sir, mirth- 
ful songs, and sometimes, though, perhaps, not so often, 
employ a profane oath, that your speech, in the silly 
thought of the youthful, may have a strong sound and 
a greater emphasis — " 

" Enough, enough, good father of mine that is to be, 
— you have said quite enough against me, and more, 
rest you thankful, than I shall ever undertake to an- 
swer. One reply, however, I am free to make you." 

" I shall be pleased to hear you, sir." 

"That is gracious; and now, sir, let me say, I admit 
the sometime levity — the playfulness and the thought- 
lessness, perhaps. I shall undertake to reform these, 
when you shall satisfy me that to laugh and sing, and 
seek and afford amusement, are inconsistent with my 
duties either to the Creator or tho creature. On this 
head, permit me to saj diat you are the criminal, not 
I It is you, sir, and your sect, that are the true 
criminals. Denying, as you do, to the young, all those 
natural forms of enjoyment and amusement which the 


Deity, speaking through their own nature, designed 
them, you cast a gloomy despondency over all things 
around you. In this way, sir, you force them upon 
the necessity of seeking for less obvious and more ar- 
tificial enjoyments, which are not often innocent, and 
which are frequently ruinous and destructive. As for 
my irreverence, and so forth — If it be so, it were a 
grievous fault, and I am grievously sorry for it. But 
I am free to say that I am not conscious of it. If 
you make a saint out of a murderer, as the Ye- 
massee makes a God out of the devil, whom he 
worships as frequently and with more fervour than he 
does any other, I am not therefore irreverent when I 
doubt and deny. I do not, however, pretend, sir, to 
defend myself from the charge of many errors and 
some vices perhaps. I will try and cure these as I go 
on. I am not more fond of them, I honestly think, 
than the rest of my neighbours ; and hope, some day, 
to be a better and a wiser man than I am. That I 
shall never be a Puritan, however, you may be assured, 
iifit be only to avoid giving to my face the expression 
of a pine bur. That I shall never love Cromwell the 
better for having been a hypocrite as well as a mur- 
derer, you may equally take for granted ; and, that; 
my dress, unlike your own, sir, shall be fashioned 
always with a due reference to my personal becoming- 
ness, you and I, both, may this day safely swear for. 
These are matters, Mr. Matthews, upon which you 
insist with too much solemnity. I look upon them, 
sir, as so many trifles, not worthy the close considera- 
tion of thinking men. I will convince you before 
many days perhaps, that my levity does not unfit me 
for business — never interferes with my duties. I wear 
it as I do my doublet ; when it suits me to do so, I 
throw it aside, and proceed, soul and body, to tne 
necessity which calls for it. Such, sir, is Gabriel 
Harrison — the person for whom you can find no 
kindred — no sponsor — an objection, perfectly idle, sir, 
when one thing is considered." 

" And pray, sir," said the pastor, who had been 


stricken dumb by what seemed the gross irreverence 
of his companion's speech, " and pray, sir, what may 
that be V 

" Why, simply sir, that your daughter is to marry 
-orabriel Harrison himself, and not his kindred." 

"Let Gabriel Harrison rest assured, that ray daugh- 
ter does no such thing." 

v Cha-no-selonee, as the Yemassees say. We shall 
see. I don't believe that. Trust not your vow, Mas- 
ter Matthews — Gabriel Harrison will marry your 
daughter, and make her an excellent husband, sir, in 
spite of you. More than that, sir, I will for once be a 
prophet among the rest, and predict that you too shall 
clasp hands on the bargain." 

" Indeed I" 

" Ay, indeed, sir. Look not so sourly, old man, upon 
the matter. I am bent on it. You shall not destroy 
your daughter's chance of happiness in denying mine. 
Pardon me if my phrase is something audacious. I 
have been a rover, and my words come with my feel- 
ings — I seldom stop to pick them. I love Bess, and 
I'm sure I can make her happy. Believing this, and 
believing too that you shall be satisfied after a time 
with me, however you dislike my name, I shall not 
suffer myself to be much troubled on the score of your 
refusal. When the time comes — when I can see my 
way through some few difficulties now before me, and 
when I have safely performed other duties, I shall 
come to possess myself of my bride — and, as I shall 
then give you up my secret, I shall look to have her 
at your hands." * 

" We shall see, sir," was all the response which the 
bewildered pastor uttered to the wild visiter who had 
thus addressed him. The character of the dialogue, 
however, did not seem so greatly to surprise him, 
as one might have expected. He appeared to be 
rather familiar with some of the peculiarities of his 
companion, and however he might object to his seem- 
ing recklessness, he himself was not altogether in- 
sensible to the manly fearlessness which marked Har- 


rison's conduct throughout. The conversation had 
fairly terminated ; and following his guest to the door- 
way, the pastor heard his farewell with a half uncon- 
scious spirit. But he was aroused by Harrison's return. 
His expression of face, no longer laughing, was now 
singularly changed to a reflective gravity. 

" Mr. Matthews," said he — " one thing — let me not 
forget to counsel you. There is some mischief afoot 
among the Yemassees. I have reason to believe that 
it has been for some time in progress. We shall not 
be long, 1 fear, without an explosion, and must be pre- 
pared. The lower Block House would be your safest 
retreat in case of time being allowed you for flight ; but 
I pray you reject no warning, and take the first Block 
House if the warning be short. I shall probably be 
nigh, however, in the event of danger, and though you 
like not the name of Gabriel Harrison, its owner has 
some ability, and wants none of the will to do you 

The old man was struck, not less with the earnest 
manner of the speaker, so unusual with him, than 
with his language ; and with something more of defer- 
ence in his own expression, begged to know the occa- 
sion of his apprehensions. 

" I cannot well tell you now," said the other, " but 
there are reasons enough to render caution advisable. 
Your eye has probably before this beheld the vessel 
in the river — she is a stranger, and I think an enemy. 
But as we have not the means of contending with her, 
we must watch her well, and do what we can by strata- 
gem. What we think, too, must be thought secretly ; 
but to you I may say, that I suspect an agent of the 
Spaniard in that vessel, and will do my utmost to find 
it out. I know that sundry of the Yemassees have 
been for the first time to St. Augustine, and they have 
come home burdened with gauds and gifts. These 
are not given for nothing. But enough — be on your 
watch — to give you more of my confidence, at this 
moment, than is called for, is no part of my vocation." 

"In heaven's name who are you, sir?" was the 
earnest exclamation of the old pastor. 


" Gabriel Harrison, sir," was the reply, with the 
most profound gravity of expression, " the future hus- 
band of Bess Matthews." 

Then, as he caught a glance of the maiden's eye 
peering through a neighbouring window, he kissed his 
hand to her twice and thrice, and with a hasty nod to 
the wondering father, who now began to regard him 
as a madman, he dashed forward through the gate, and 
was soon upon the banks of the river. 


" The nations meet in league — a solemn league, 
This is their voice — this their united pledge, 
For all adventure." 

Santjtee turned away from the spot whence Har- 
rison had departed, and was about to retire, when, not 
finding himself followed by Ishiagaska, and perceiving 
the approach of the sailor, his late opponent, and not 
knowing what to expect, he again turned, facing the 
two, and lifting his bow, and setting his arrow, he pre- 
pared himself for a renewal of the strife. But the 
voice of the sailor and of Ishiagaska, at the same 
moment, reached his ears in words of conciliation - t 
and resting himself slightly against a tree, foregoing 
none of his precautions, however, with a cold indiffer- 
ence he awaited their approach. The seaman ad- 
dressed him with all his usual bluntness, but with a 
manner now very considerably changed from what it 
was at their first encounter. He apologized for his 
violence and for having slain the dog. Had he known 
to whom it belonged, so he assured the chief, he had 
not been so hasty in despatching it: and as some small 
amends, he begged the Indian to do with the venison 
as he thought proper, for it was now his own. During 
the utterance of this uncouth apology, mixed up as it 


was with numberless oaths, Sanutee looked on and 
listened with contemptuous indifference. When it 
was done, he simply replied — 

" It is well — but the white man will keep the meat, 
it is not for Sanutee." 

" Come, come, don't be ill-favoured now, warrior. 
What's , done can't be undone, and more ado is too 
much to do. I'm sure I'm sorry enough I killed the 
dog, but how was I to know he belonged to you ?" 

The sailor might have gone oft for some time after 
this fashion, had not Ishiagaska, seeing that the refer- 
ence to his dog only the more provoked the ire of the 
chief, interposed by an address to the sailor which 
more readily commanded Sanutee's consideration. 

" The master of the big canoe — is he not the chief 
that comes from St. Augustine 1 Ishiagaska has look- 
ed upon the white chief in the great lodge of his Span- 
ish brother." 

" Ay, that you have, Indian, I'll be sworn ; and I 
thought I knew you from the first. I am the friend of 
the Spanish governor, and I come here now upon his 

"It is good," responded Ishiagaska — and he turned 
to Sanutee, with whom, for a few moments, he carried 
on a conversation in their own language, entirely 
beyond the comprehension of the sailor, who neverthe- 
less gave it all due attention. 

" Brings the master of the big canoe nothing from 
our Spanish brother? Hides he no writing in his 
bosom V was the inquiry of Ishiagaska, turning from 
Sanutee, who seemed to have prompted the inquiry. 

".Writing indeed — no — writing to wild Indians," and 
he muttered to himself the last clause, at the conclu- 
sion of his reply to their question. " No writing, but 
something that you may probably understand quite as 
well. Here — this is what I have brought you. See 
if you can read it." 

As he spoke, he drew from his bosom a bright red 
cloth — -a strip, not over six inches in width, but of 
several yards in length, worked over at little intervals 


with symbols and figures of every kind and of the most 
fantastic description — among which were birds and 
beasts, reptiles and insects, nncouthly delineated, either 
in shells or beads, which, however grotesque, had yet 
their signification ; and under the general name of wam- 
pum, among all the Indians formed a common language, 
in which their treaties, whether of peace, war, or alli- 
ance, were commonly effected. Each tribe, indicated 
by some hieroglyphic of this sort, supposed to be 
particularly emblematic of its general pursuit or char- 
acter, pledges itself and its people after this fashion, 
and affixes to the compact agreed upon between them 
a seal, which is significant of their intentions, and 
as faithfully binding as the more legitimate charac- 
ters known among the civilized. The features of 
Sanutee underwent a change from the repose of indiffer- 
ence to the lively play of the warmest interest, as he 
beheld the long folds of this document slowly unwind 
before his eyes ; and without a word hastily snatching 
it from the hands of the seaman, he had nearly brought 
upon himself another assault from that redoubted 
worthy. But as he made a show of that sort, Ishia- 
gaska interposed. 

" How do I know that it is for him — that treaty is 
for the chiefs of the Yemassees ; and blast my eyes 
if any but the chiefs shall grapple it in their yellow 

"It is right — it is Sanutee, the great chief of the 
Yemassees ; and is not Ishiagaska a chief?" replied 
the latter, impressively. The sailor was somewhat 
pacified, and said no more ; while Sanutee, who 
seemed not at all to have heeded this latter movement, 
went on examining each figure upon its folds in turn, 
numbering them carefully upon his fingers as he did 
so, and conferring upon their characters with Ishia- 
gaska, whose own curiosity was now actively at work 
along with him in the examination. In that language 
which from their lips is a solemn melody, they 
conversed together, to the great disquiet of the seaman, 
who had no less curiosity than themselves to know 


fee features of this treaty, but who understood not a 
word they said. 

" Thev are here, Ishiagaska, they have heard the 
speech of the true warrior, and they will stand 
together. Look, this green bird is for the Estatoe ;* 
he will sing death in the sleeping ear of the pale 
warrior of the English." 

" He is a great brave of the hills, and has long worn 
the blanket of the Spaniard. It is good," was the 


"And this for the Cussoboe— it is burnt timber. 
They took the totem from the Suwannee, when they 
smoked him out of his lodge. And this for the 
Alatamaha, a green leaf of the summer, for the great 
prophet of the Alatamaha never dies, and looks always 
in youth. This tree snake stands for the Serannah ; 
for he watches in the thick top of the bush for the 
warrior that walks blind underneath." 

" I have looked on this chief in battle — the hill 
chief of Apalachy. It was the fight of a long day, 
when we took scalps from their warriors, and slew 
them with their arms about our necks. They are 
brave — look, the mark of their knife is deep in the 
cheek of Ishiagaska." 

" The hill is their totem. It stands, and they never 
lie. This is the wolf tribe of the Cherokee — and this 
the bear's. Look, the Catawba, that laughs, is here. 
He speaks with the trick-tongue of the Coonee-lattee ;f 
he laughs, but he can strike like a true brave, and sings 
his death-song with a free spirit." 

" For whom speaks the viper-snake, hissing from 
under the bush 1" 

" For the Creek warrior with the sharp tooth, that 
tears. His tooth is like an arrow, and when he tears 
away the scalp of his enemy, he drinks a long drink 

* A tribe of the Cherokees, living in what is now Pendleton dis 

t The mocking-bird. The Catawbas were of a generous, elastic, 
ar,d lively temperament, and until this affair, usually the friends of 
the Carolinians. 

Vol. I. 1 


of his blood, that makes him strong. This is their 
totem — I know them of old ; they gave us six braves 
when we fought with the Chickquasays." 

The sailor had heard this dialogue without any of 
the advantages possessed by us. It was in a dead 
language to him. Becoming impatient, and desiring 
to have some hand in the business, be took advantage 
of a pause made by Sanutee, who now seemed to ex- 
amine with Ishiagaska more closely the list they had 
read out — to suggest a more rapid progress to the rest. 

" Roll them out, chief; roll them out ; there are many 
more yet to come. Snakes, and trees, and birds, and 
beasts enough to people the best show-stall of Eu- 

" It is good," said Sanutee, who understood in part 
what had been said, and as suggested, the Yemassee 
proceeded to do so, though exhibiting somewhat less 
of curiosity. The residue of the hieroglyphics were 
those chiefly of tribes and nations of which he had 
been previously secure. He proceeded however, as 
if rather for the stranger's satisfaction than his own. 

" Here," said he, continuing the dialogue in his own 
language with Ishiagaska, "here is the Salutah* that 
falls like the water. He is a stream from the rock. 
This is the Isundigaf that goes on his belly, and shoots 
from the hollow — this is the Santee, he runs in the 
long canoe, and his paddle is a cane, that catches the 
tree top, and thus he goes through the dark swamps 
of Serattaya.| The Chickaree stands up in the pine — 
and the Winyah is here in the terrapin." 

" I say, chief," said the sailor, pointing to the next 
symbol, which was an arrow of considerable length, 
and curved almost to a crescent, " I say, chief, tell 
us what this arrow means here — I know it stands for 
some nation, but what nation ? and speak now in plain 
English, if you can, or in Spanish, or in French, which 
1 can make out, but not in that d — d gibberish which 

* Salutah, now written Saluda, and signifying Corn river. 

+ Isundiga, or Savannah. 

X Near Nelson's ferry and Scott's lake on the Santee. 


is all up side down and in and out, and no ways at all, 
in my understanding." 

The chief comprehended the object of the sailor, 
though less from his words than his looks ; and with 
an elevation of head and gesture, and a pleasant kin- 
dling of the eye, he replied proudly : — 

" It is the arrow, the arrow that came with the 
storm — it came from the Manneyto, to the brave, to 
the well-beloved, the old father-chief of the Yemassee." 

" Ah, ha ! so that's your mark — totem, do you call 
it ? — Well, its a pretty long matter to burrow in one s 
ribs, and reminds met of the fellow to it, that you so 
kindly intended for mine. But that's over now — so 
no more of it, old chief." 

Neither of the Indians appeared to heed this latter 
speech of the sailor, for they seemed not exactly 
to comprehend one of the symbols upon the wam- 
pum which now met their eyes, and called for their 
closest scrutiny. They uttered their doubts and opin- 
ions in their own language with no little fluency ; 
for it is something of a popular error to suppose the 
Indian that taciturn character which he is sometimes 
represented. He is a great speech maker, and when 
business claims him not, actually and exceeding fond 
of a jest ; which, by the way, is not often the purest 
.B its nature. The want of our language is a very 
natural reason why he should be sparing of his words 
when he speaks with us. 

The bewilderment of the chiefs did not escape the 
notice of the sailor, who immediately guessed its occa- 
sion. The symbol before their eyes was that of Spain ; 
the high turrets, and the wide towers of its castellated 
dominion, frowning in gold, and finely embroidered 
upon the belt, directly below the simpler ensign of the 
Yemassees. Explaining the mystery to their satis- 
faction, the contrast between its gorgeous imbodi- 
ments and vaster associations of human agency and 
power, necessarily influenced the imagination of the 
European, while wanting every thing like force to the 
Indian, to whom a lodge so vast and cheerless in its 


aspect seemed rather an absurdity than any thing else ; 
and he could not help dilating upon the greatness and 
magnificence of a people dwelling in such houses. 

" That's a nation for you now, chiefs — that is the 
nation after all." 

" The Yemassee is the nation," said one of the 
chiefs proudly. 

" Yes, perhaps so, in this part of the world, a great 
nation enough ; but in Europe you wouldn't be a mouth- 
ful — a mere drop in the bucket — a wounded porpoise, 
flirting about in the mighty seas that must swallow it 
up,- Ah ! it's a great honour, chiefs, let me tell you, 
when so great a king as the King of Spain condescends 
to make a treaty with a wild people such as you are 

Understanding but little of all this, Sanutee did not 
perceive its disparaging tendency, but simply pointing 
to the insignia, inquired — 

"It is the Spanish totem." 

" Ay, it's their sign — -their arms — if that's what you 
mean by totem. It was a long time before the Gover- 
nor of Saint Augustine could get it done after your 
fashion, till an old squaw of the Charriquees* fixed it 
up, and handsomely enough she has done it too. And 
now, chiefs, the sooner we go to work the better. The 
governor has put his hand to the treaty, he will find the 
arms, and you the warriors." 

" The Yemassee will speak to the governor," said 
Sanutee. , 

" You will have to go to Saint Augustine, then, for 
he has sent me in his place. I have brought the treaty, 
and the arms are in my vessel ready for your warriors,, 
whenever they are ready." 

"Does Sanutee speak to a chief?" 

" Ay, that he does, or my name is not Richard 
Chorley. I am a sea chief, a chief of the great canoe, 
and captain of as pretty a crew as ever riddled a mer- 

* Thus written for Cherokees, in many of the old state papers. 


" I see not the totem of your tribe." 

" My tribe ?" said the sailor, laughingly — " My crew, 
you mean. Yes, they have a totem, and as pretty a 
one as any on your roll. There, look," said he, and 
as be spoke, rolling up his sleeve, he displayed a huge 
anchor upon his arm, done in gunpowder — a badge 
so much like their own, that the friendly regards of 
the Indians became evidently more active in his fa- 
vour after this exhibition. 

" And now," said Chorley, " it is well I have some 
of my marks about me, for I can easily put my signa- 
ture to that treaty without scrawl of pen, or taking half 
the trouble that it must have given the worker of these 
beads. But, hear me, chiefs, I don't work for nothing ; 
I must have my pay, and as it don't come out ot your 
pockets, I look to have no refusal." 

" The chief of the great canoe will speak." 

" Yes, and first to show that I mean to act as well 
as speak, here is my totem — the totem of my crew or 
tribe as you call it. I put it on, and trust to have fair 
play out of you." As he spoke, he took from his pock- 
et a small leaden anchor, such as are now-a-days num- 
bered among the playthings of children, but which at 
that period made no unfrequent ornament to the sea- 
man's jacket. A thorn from a neighbouring branch 
secured it to the wampum, and the engagement of the 
sea chief was duly ratified. Having done this, he 
proceeded to unfold his expectations. He claimed, 
among other things, in consideration of the service of 
himself and the fifteen men whom he should command 
in the insurrection, the possession of all slaves who 
should be taken by him from the Carolinians ; and that 
unless they offered resistance, they should not be slain 
in the war. 

" I don't want better pay than that," said he, " but 
that I must and will have, or d — n the blow I strike in 
•he matter." 

The terms of the seaman had thus far undergone 
development, when Sanutee started suddenly, and his 
eyes, flushed seemingly with some new interest, were 



busied in scrutinizing the little circuit of wood on the 
edge of which their conversation had been carried on, 
Ishiagaska betrayed a similar consciousness of an 
intruder's presence, and the wampum belt was rolled 
up hurriedly by one of the chiefs, while the other 
maintained his watchfulness upon the brush from 
whence the interruption had come. There was some 
reason for the alarm, though the unpractised sense of 
the white man had failed to perceive it. It was there 
that our old acquaintance, Hector, despatched as a spy 
upon the progress of those whom his master suspected 
to be engaged in mischief, had sought concealment 
while seeking his information. Unfortunately for the 
black, as he crept along on hands and knees, a fallen and 
somewhat decayed tree lay across his path, some of the 
branches of which protruded entirely out of the cover, 
and terminated within sight of the three conspirators, 
upon the open plain. In crawling cautiously enough 
over the body of the tree, the branches thus exposed 
were agitated, and though but slightly, yet sufficiently for 
the keen sight of an Indian warrior. Hector, all the 
while, ignorant of the protrusion within their gaze of 
the agitated members, in his anxiety to gain more of the 
latter words of the sailor, so interesting to his own 
colour, and a portion of which had met his ear, incau- 
tiously pushed forwai-d over the tree, crawling all the 
way like a snake, and seeking to shelter himself in a 
little clump that interposed itself between him and those 
he was approaching. As he raised his head above the 
earth, he beheld the glance of Sanutee fixed upon the 
very bush behind which he lay ; the bow uplifted, and 
his eye ranging from stem to point of the long arrow. 
In a moment the negro sunk to the level of the ground ; 
but in doing so precipitately, disturbed still more the 
branches clustering around him. The lapse of a few 
moments without any assault, persuaded Hector to 
believe that all danger was passed ; and he was»just 
ibout to lift his head for another survey, when he felt 
'he entire weight of a heavy body upon his back. 
While the black had lain quiet, in those few moments, 


Sanutee had swept round a turn of the woods, and with 
s. single bound after noticing the person of the spy, 
had placed his feet upon him. 

" Hello, now, who de debble dat ? Get off, I tell 
you. Wha'for you do so to Hector ?" Thus shouting 
confusedly, the negro, taken in the very act, with a 
tone of considerable indignation, addressed his assail- 
ant, while struggling violently all the time at his extri- 
cation. His struggles only enabled him to see his cap- 
tor, who, calling out to Ishiagaska, in a moment, with 
his assistance, dragged forth the spy from his. uncon- 
cealing cover. To do Hector's courage all manner of 
justice, he battled violently ; threatening his captors 
dreadfully with the vengeance of his master. But his 
efforts ceased as the hatchet of Ishiagaska gleamed 
over his eyes, and he was content, save in words, 
which he continued to pour forth with no little fluency, 
to forego his further opposition to the efforts which 
they now made to keep him down, while binding his 
arms behind him with a thong of hide which Ishia- 
gaska readily produced. The cupidity of Chorley 
soon furnished them with a plan for getting rid of him. 
Under his suggestion, driving the prisoner before them, 
with the terrors of knife and hatchet, they soon reached 
the edge of the river ; and after some search, found the 
rattlesnake's point, where the boat had been stationed in 
waiting. With the assistance of the two sailors in it, the 
seats were taken up, and the captive, kicking, struggling, 
and threatening, though all in vain, was tumbled in; 
the seats replaced above him, the seamen sitting upon 
them ; and every chance of a long captivity, and that 
foreign slavery against which his master had fore- 
warned him, in prospect before his thoughts. The 
further arrangements between the chiefs and the sailor 
took place on shore, out of Hector's hearing. In 
a little while, it ceased — the Yemassees took their 
way up the river to Pocota-ligo, while Chorley, return- 
ing to his boat, bringing the deer along, which he 
tumbled in upon the legs of the negro, took his seat 
in the stern, and the men pulled steadily off for the 


vessel, keeping nigh the opposite shore, and avoiding 
that side upon which the settlements of the Carolinians 
were chiefly to be found. As they pursued their way, 
a voice hailed them from the banks, to which the sailor 
gave no reply ; but immediately changing the direc- 
tion of the boat, put her instantly into the centre of 
the stream. But the voice was known to Hector as 
that of Granger, the Indian trader, and with a despe- 
rate effort, raising his head from the uncomfortable 
place where it had been laid on a dead level with his 
body, he yelled out to the trader, with his utmost 
pitch of voice, vainly endeavouring through the mists 
of evening, which now hung heavily around, to make 
out the person to whom he spoke. A salutary blow 
from the huge fist of the sailor, driven into the up- 
rising face of the black, admonished him strongly 
against any future imprudence, while driving him back 
with all the force of a sledge-hammer to the shelter 
of his old position. There was no reply that the 
negro heard to his salutation ; and in no long time 
after, the vessel was reached, and Hector was soon 
consigned to a safe quarter in the hold, usually provided 
for such freight, and kept to await the arrival of as 
many companions in captivity, as the present enter- 
prise of the pirate captain, for such is Master Richaid 
Chorley, promised to procure. 


" Why goes he forth again — what is the quest, 
That from his cottage home, and the warm heart, 
Blest that its warmth is his, carries him forth 
By night, into the mazy solitude ?" 

The boats, side by side, of Sanutee and IshiagasKa, 
crossed the river at a point just below Pocota-ligo. It 
was there that Sanutee landed — the other chief cor 


tinued his progress to the town. But a few words, 
and those of stern resolve, passed between them at 
separation ; but those words were volumes. They 
were the words of revolution and strife, and announced 
the preparation of the people not less than of the two 
chiefs, for the commencement, with brief delay, of 
those terrors which were now the most prominent ima- 
ges in their minds. The night was fixed among 
hem for the outbreak, the several commands ar- 
ranged, and the intelligence brought by the sailor, in- 
formed them of a contemplated attack of the Spaniards 
by sea upon the Carolinian settlements, while at the 
same time another body was in progress over land to 
coalesce with them in their operations. This latter 
force could not be very distant, and it was understood 
that when the scouts should return with accounts of 
its approach, the signal should be given for the general 

" They shall die — they shall all perish, and their 
scalps shall shrivel around the long pole in the lodge 
of the warrior," exclaimed Ishiagaska, fiercely, to his 
brother chief in their own language. The response 
of Sanutee was in a different temper, though recogni- 
sing the same necessity. 

" The Yemassee must be free," said the elder 
chief, solemnly, in his sonorous tones — "the Manneyto 
will bring him freedom — he will take the burden from 
his shoulders, and set him up against the tree by the 
wayside. He will put the bow into his hands — he will 
strengthen him for the chase ; there shall be no pale- 
faces along the path to rob him of venison — to put 
blows upon his shoulders. The Yemassee shall be 

" He shall drink blood for strength. — He shall hunt 
the track of the English to the sounds of the big waters ; 
and the war-whoop shall ring death in the ear that 
sleeps," cried Ishiagaska, with a furious exultation. 

" Let them go, Ishiagaska, let them go from the 
Yemassee — let the warrior have no stop in the chase, 
when he would strike the brown deer on the edge of 


the swamp. Let them leave the home of the Yemassee, 
and take the big canoe over the waters, and the toma- 
hawk of Sanutee shall be buried — it should drink no 
blood from the English." 

" They will not go," exclaimed the other fiercely — 
" there must be blood — the white man will not go. 
His teeth are in the trees, and he eats into the earth 
for his own." 

" Thou hast said, Ishiagaska — there must be blood — 
they will not go. The knife of the Yemassee must 
be red. But — not yet — not yet ! The moon must 
sleep first — the Yemassee is a little child till the moon 
sleeps, but then — " 

" He is a strong man, with a long arrow, and a tom- 
ahawk like the Manneyto." 

" It is good — the arrow shall fly to the heart, and 
the tomahawk shall sink deep into the head. The 
Yemassee shall have his lands, and his limbs shall be 
free in the hunt." Thus, almost in a strain of lyric 
enthusiasm, for a little while they continued, until, hav- 
ing briefly arranged for a meeting with other chiefs of 
their party for the day ensuing, they separated, and the 
night had well set in before Sanutee reappeared in the 
cabin of his wife. 

He returned gloomy and abstracted — his mind brood- 
ing over schemes of war and violence. He was about 
to plunge his nation into all the difficulties and dangers 
of a strife with the colony, still in its infancy, but even 
in its infancy, powerful to the Indians — with a peo- 
ple with whom they had, hitherto, always been at 
peace and on terms of the most friendly intercourse. 
Sanutee felt the difficulties of this former relation 
doubly to increase those which necessarily belong to 
war. He had, however, well deliberated the matter, 
and arrived at a determination, so fraught with peril 
not only to himself but to his people, only after a per- 
fect conviction of its absolute necessity. Yet such a 
decision was a severe trial to a spirit framed as his — 
a spirit, which, as in the case of Logan, desired peace 
rather than war. The misfortune with him, howeve 


consisted in this — he was a patriot rather than a sage, 
and though lacking nothing of that wisdom which may 
exist in a mind not yet entirely stripped of all warmth — 
all national veneration, — he could not coldly calculate 
chances and changes, injurious and possibly fatal to his 
people, tamely to predict, without seeking also to di- 
vert them. At the first, misled as were the Indians gen- 
erally, he had been friendly to the settlers — he had cor- 
dially welcomed them — yielded the lands of his people 
graciously, and when they were assailed by other 
tribes, had himself gone forth in their battle even 
against the Spaniards of St. Augustine, with whom he 
now found it politic to enter into alliance. But his 
eyes were now fully opened to his error. It is in the 
nature of civilization to own an appetite for domin- 
ion and extended sway, which the world that is known 
will always fail to satisfy. It is for her, then, to seek 
and to create, and not with the Macedonian barbarian, to 
weep for the triumph of the unknown. Conquest and 
sway are the great leading principles of her existence, 
and the savage must join in her train, or she rides 
over him relentlessly in her for-ever-onward progress. 
Though slow, perhaps, i« her approaches, Sanutee 
was sage enough at length to foresee all this, as the in- 
evitable result of her progressive march. The evi- 
dence rose daily before his eyes in the diminution 
of the game — in the frequent insults to his people, un- 
redressed by their obtrusive neighbours — and in the 
daily approach of some new borderer in contact with 
the Indian hunters, whose habits were foreign, and 
whose capacities were obviously superior to theirs. 
The desire for new lands, and the facility with which 
the whites, in many cases, taking advantage of the 
weaknesses of their chiefs, had been enabled to pro- 
cure them, impressed Sanutee strongly with the mel- 
ancholy prospect in reserve for the Yemassee. He, 
probably, would not live to behold them landless, and 
his own children might, to the last, have range enough 
for the chase ; but the nation itself was in the thought 
of the unselfish chieftain, upon whom its general voice 


had conferred the title of " the well-beloved of Man- 

He threw himself upon the bearskin of his cabin 
and Matiwan stood beside him. She was not young — ■ 
she was not beautiful, but her face was softly brown, 
and her eye was dark, while her long black hair came 
down her back with a flow of girlish luxuriance. Her 
face was that of a girl, plump, and though sorrow had 
made free with it, the original expression must have 
been one of extreme liveliness. Even now, when she 
laughed, and the beautiful white teeth glittered through 
her almost purple lips, she wore all the expression 
of a child. The chief loved her as a child rather than 
as a wife, and she rather adored than loved the chief. 
At this moment, however, as she stood before him, 
robed loosely in her long white garment, and with an 
apron of the soft skin of the spotted fawn, he had nei- 
ther words nor looks for Matiwan. She brought him 
a gourd filled with a simple beer common to their peo- 
ple, and extracted from the pleasanter roots of the for- 
est, with the nature of which, all Indians, in their rude 
pharmacy, are familiar. Unconsciously he drank off 
the beverage, and without speaking returned the gourd 
to the woman. She addressed him inquiringly at last, 

" The chief, Sanutee, has sent an arrow from his 
bow, yet brings he no venison from the woods ?" 

The red of his cheek grew darker, as the speech 
reminded him of his loss, not only of dog, but deer ; 
and though the sailor had proffered him the meat, 
which his pride had compelled him to reject, he could 
not but feel that he had been defrauded of the spoils 
which had been in reality his own, while sustaining 
a severe loss beside : querulous, therefore, was the 
manner of his reply : — 

" Has Matiwan been into the tree-top to-day, for 
the voice of the bird which is painted, that she must 
sing with a foolish noise in the ear of Sanutee ?" 

The woman was rebuked into silence for the 
moment, but with a knowledge of his mood, she sunk 
back directly behind him, upon a corner of the bear- 


skin, and after a few prefatory notes, as if singing 
for her own exercise and amusement, she carolled 
forth in an exquisite ballad voice, one of those little 
fancies of the Indians, which may be found among nearly 
all the tribes from Carolina to Mexico. — It recorded 
the achievements of that Puck of the American forests, 
the mocking-bird ; and detailed the manner in which 
he procured his imitative powers. The strain, play- 
fully simple in the sweet language of the original, 
must necessarily lose in the more frigid verse of the 



" As the Coonee-latee looked forth from his leaf, 
He saw below him a Yemasee chief, 

In his war-paint, all so grim — 
Sung boldly, then, the Coonee-latee, 
I, too, will seek for mine enemy, 

And when the young moon grows dim, 
I'll slip through the leaves, nor shake them, — 
I'll come on my foes, nor wake them, — 

And I'll take off their scalps like him. 


" In the forest grove, where the young birds slept, 
Slyly by night, through the leaves he crept 

With a footstep free and bold — 
From bush to bush, and from tree to tree, 
They lay, wherever his eye could see, 

The bright, the dull, the young, and the old ; 
I'll cry my war-whoop, said he, at breaking 
The sleep, that shall never know awaking, 

And their hearts shall soon grow cold. 

" But, as nigher and nigher, the spot he crept, 
And saw that with open mouth they slept, 

The thought grew strong in his brain — 
And from bird to bird, with a cautious tread, 
He unhook'd the tongue, out of every head, 

Then flew to his perch again ; — . 
And thus it is, whenever he chooses, 
The tongues of all the birds he uses, 

And none of them dare complain."* 

The song had something of the desired effect, 
though still the chief said nothing. He seemed 

* The grove is generally silent when the mocking-bird sings. 

Vol I. 8 


soothed, however, and as a beautiful pet fawn bounded 
friskingly into the lodge, from the enclosure which ad- 
joined it, and leaped playfully upon him, as, with an 
indulged habit, he encouraged its caresses ; while, 
also encouraged by this show, Matiwan herself drew 
nigher, and her arm rested upon his shoulder. The 
chief, though still silent and musing, suffered his hand 
to glide over the soft skin and shrinking back of the 
animal, which, still more encouraged by his caress, 
now thrust its head into his bosom, while its face was 
even occasionally pressed upon his own. On a sud- 
den, however, the warrior started, as his hand was 
pressed upon a thick cluster of large and various 
beads, which had been wound about the neck of the 
playful favourite ; and, as if there had been contamina- 
tion in the touch, thrusting the now affrighted animal 
away, he cried out to the shrinking woman, in a voice 
of thunder : — 

" Matiwan, the white trader has been in the lodge 
of Sanutee !" 

" No, chief — Sanutee — not Granger — he has not 
been in the lodge of the chief." 

"The beads ! Matiwan — -the beads !" he cried, furi- 
ously, as he tore the cluster from the neck of the fawn, 
and dashing them to the ground, trampled them fiercely 
under his feet. 

" The boy, — Sanutee — the boy, Occonestoga — " 

" The dog ! came he to the lodge of Sanutee when 
Sanutee said no ! Matiwan — woman ! Thy ears 
have forgotten the- words of the chief — of Sanutee — 
thine eyes have looked upon a dog." 

" 'Tis the child of Matiwan — Matiwan has no child 
but Occonestoga." And she threw herself at length, 
with her face to the ground, at the foot of her lord. 

" Speak, Matiwan — darkens the dog still in the 
lodge of Sanutee ?" 

" Sanutee, no ! Occonestoga has gone with the chiefs 
of the English, to talk in council with the Yemassee." 

"Ha — thou speakest ! — look, Matiwan — where 
stood the sun when the chiefs of the pale-faces came ? 
Speak !" 


" The sun stood high over the lodge of Matiwan, 
and saw not beneath the tree top." 

" They come for more lands — they would have all ; 
but they know not that Sanutee lives — they say he 
sleeps — that he has no tongue, — that his people have 
forgotten his voice ! They shall see." As he spoke, 
he pointed to the gaudy beads which lay strewed over 
the floor of the cabin, and, with a bitter sarcasm of 
glance and speech, thus addressed her : — 

" What made thee, a chief of the Yemassees, 
Matiwan, to sell the lands of my people to the pale- 
faces for their painted glass ? They would buy thee, 
and the chief, and the nation — all ; and with what 1 
With that which is not worth, save that it is like thine 
eye. And thou — didst thou pray to the Manneyto to 
send thee from thy people, that thou mightst carry 
water for the pale-faces from the spring ? Go — thou 
hast done wrong, Matiwan." 

" They put the painted glass into the hands of 
Matiwan, but they asked not for lands ; they gave 
it to Matiwan, for she was the wife of Sanutee, the 

" They lied with a forked tongue. It was to buy 
the lands of our people ; it was to send us into the 
black swamps, where the sun sleeps for ever. But I 
will go — where is the dog — the slave of the pale-faces 1 
where went Occonestoga with the English ?" 

" To Pocota-ligo — they would see the chiefs of 

" To buy them with the painted glass, and red cloth, 
and strong water. Manneyto be with my people, 
for the chiefs are slaves to the English ; and they will 
give the big forests of my fathers to be cut down by 
the accursed axes of the pale-face. But they bliiv] 
me not — they buy not Sanutee ! The knife must have 
blood — the Yemassee must have his home with the 
old grave of his father. I will go-to Pocota-ligo." 

"Sanutee, chief — 'tis Matiwan, the mother of Occo- 
nestoga that speaks; thou wilt see the young chief — 
thou wilt look upon the boy at Pocota-ligo. Oh ! well- 


beloved of the Yemassee — look not to strike." She 
sunk at his feet as she uttered the entreaty, anc 1 her 
arms clung about his knees. 

" I would not see Occonestoga, Matiwan — for he is 
thy son. Manneyto befriend thee ; but thou hast 
been the mother to a dog." . 

" Thou wilt not see to strike — " 

" I would not see him ! but let him not stand in the 
path of Sanutee. Look, Matiwan — the knife is in my 
hands, and there is death for the dog, and a curse for 
the traitor, from the black swamps of Opitchi-Man- 

He said no more, and she, too, was speechless. 
She could only raise her hands and eyes, in imploring 
expressions to his glance, as, seizing upon his toma- 
hawk, which he had thrown beside him upon the skin, 
he rushed forth from the lodge, and took the path to 


-" Ye shall give all 

The old homes of your fathers, and their graves, 
To be the spoils of strangers, and go forth 
A Seminole."t 

The house of council, in the town of Pocota-ligo, 
was filled that night with an imposing conclave. The 
gauds and the grandeur — the gilded mace, the guardian 
sword, the solemn stole, the rich pomps of civilization 
were wanting, it is true ; but how would these have 
shown in that dark and primitive assembly! A single 
hall — huge and cumbrous — built of the unhewn trees 
of the forest, composed the entire building. A single 
door furnished the means of access and departure. 

* The evil principle of the Yemassees. 
t i. e. an exile. 


The floor was the native turf, here and there con- 
cealed by the huge bearskin of some native chief, and 
they sat around, each in his place, silent, solemn, but 
with the sagacious mind at work, and with features 
filled with the quiet deliberateness of the sage. 
Motionless like themselves, stood the torch-bearers, 
twelve in number, behind them — standing, and obser- 
vant, and only varying their position when it became 
necessary to renew with fresh materials the bright 
fires of the ignited pine which they bore. These 
were all the pomps of the savage council — but the 
narrow sense, alone, would object to their deficiency. 
The scene is only for the stern painter of the dusky 
and the sublime — it would suffer in other hands. 

Huspah was at this time the superior chief — the 
reigning king, if we may apply that title legitimately 
to the highest dignitary of a people with a form of 
government like that of the Yemassees. He bore the 
name, though in name only might he claim to be con- 
sidered in that character. In reality, there was no 
king over the nation. It was ruled by a number of 
chiefs, each equal in authority, though having several 
tribes for control, yet the majority of whom were re- 
quired to coalesce in any leading national measures. 
These chiefs were elective, and from these the superior, 
or presiding chief, was duly chosen ; all of these 
without exception were accountable to the nation, 
though such accountability was rather the result of 
popular impulse than of any other more legitimate or 
customary regulation. It occurred sometimes, how- 
ever, that a favourite ruler, presuming upon his strength 
with the people, ventured beyond the prescribed 
boundary, and transcended the conceded privileges of 
his station ; but such occurrences were not frequent, 
and when the case did happen, the offender was most 
commonly made to suffer the unmeasured penalties 
always consequent upon any outbreak of popular indig- 
nation. As in the practices of more civilized com- 
munities, securing the mercenaries, a chief has been 
known to enter into treaties, unsanctioned by his 


brother chiefs ; and, forming a party resolute to sustain 
him, has brought about a civil war in the nation, and, 
perhaps, the secession from the great body of many of 
its tribes. Of this sort was the case of the celebrated 
Creek chief, Mackintosh — whose summary execution 
in Georgia, but a few years ago, by the indignant 
portion of his nation, disapproving of the treaty which 
-he had made with the whites for the sale of lands, 
resulted in the emigration of a large minority of that 
people to the west. 

Among the Yemassees, Huspah, the oldest chief, 
was tacitly placed at the head of his caste, and these 
formed the nobility of the nation. This elevation 
was nominal, simply complimentary in its character, 
and without any advantages not shared in common 
with the other chiefs. The honour was solely given to 
past achievements ; for at this time, Huspah, advanced 
in years and greatly enfeebled, was almost in his 
second infancy. The true power of the nation rested 
in Sanutee — his position was of all others the most 
enviable, as upon him the eyes of the populace gen- 
erally turned in all matters of trying and important 
character ; and his brother chiefs were usually com- 
pelled to yield to the popular will as it was supposed 
to be expressed through the lips of one styled by 
general consent, the " well-beloved" of the nation. A 
superiority so enviable with the people had the una- 
voidable effect of subtracting from the favourable 
estimate put upon him by his brother chiefs ; and the 
feelings of jealous dislike which many of them enter- 
tained towards him, had not been entirely concealed 
from the favourite himself. This was shown in various 
forms, and particularly in the fact that he was most 
generally in a minority, no ways desirable at any time, 
but more particularly annoying to the patriotic mind of 
Sanutee at the present moment, as he plainly foresaw 
the evil consequences to the people of this hostility on 
*he part of the chiefs to himself. The suggestions 
which he made in council were usually met with 
decided opposition by a regularly combined party, 


and it was only necessary to identify with his name 
the contemplated measure, to rally against it sufficient 
opposition for its defeat in council. The nation, it is 
true, did him justice, but, to his thought, there was 
nothing grateful in the strife. 

Under this state of things at home, it maybe readily 
understood why the hostility of Sanutee to the fast- 
approaching English, should find little sympathy with 
the majority of those around him. Accordingly, we 
find, that as the jealousy of the favourite grew more 
and more hostile to the intruders, they became, for 
this very reason, more and more favoured by the party 
most envious of his position. No one knew better 
than Sanutee the true nature of this difference. He 
was a far superior politician to those around him, and 
had long since foreseen the sort of warfare he would be 
compelled to wage with his associates when aiming at 
the point to which at this moment every feeling of his 
soul and every energy of his mind were devoted. It 
was this knowledge that chiefly determined upon the 
conspiracy — the plan of which, perfectly unknown 
to the people, was only intrusted to the bosom of a 
few chiefs having like feelings with himself. These 
difficulties of his situation grew more fully obvious to 
his mind, as, full of evil auguries from the visit of the 
English commissioners, he took the lonely path from 
his own lodge to the council-house of Pocota-ligo. 

He arrived just in season. As he feared, the rival 
chiefs had taken advantage of his absence to give 
audience to the commissioners of treaty from the 
Carolinians, charged with the power to purchase from 
the Yemassees a large additional tract of land, which, 
if sold to the whites, would bring their settlements 
directly upon the borders of Pocota-ligo itself. The 
whites had proceeded, as was usual in such cases, to 
administer bribes, of one sort or another, in the shape 
of presents, to all such persons, chiefs, or people, as 
were most influential and seemed most able to serve 
them. In this manner had all in that assembly been 
appealed to. Huspah, an old and drowsy Indian, 


tottering with pfclsy from side to side of the skin upon 
which he sat, was half smothered in the wide folds 
of a huge scarlet cloak which the commissioners had 
flung over his shoulders. Dresses of various shapes, 
colours, and decorations, such as might be held most 
imposing to the Indian eye, had been given to each 
in the assembly, and put on as soon as received. 
In addition to these, other gifts, such as hatchets, 
knives, beads, Sic. had been made to minister to the 
craving poverty of the people, so that before the arrival 
of Sanutee, the minds of the greater number had been 
prepared for a very liberal indulgence of any claim or 
proffer which the commissioners had to make. 

Sanutee entered abruptly, followed by Ishiagaska, 
who, like himself, had just had intelligence of the 
council. There was a visible start in the assembly 
as the old patriot came forward, full into the centre of 
the circle, — surveying, almost analyzing every feature, 
and sternly dwelling in his glance upon the three com- 
missioners, who sat a little apart from the chiefs, upon 
a sort of mat to themselves. Another mat held the 
presents which remained unappropriated and had been 
reserved for such chiefs, Ishiagaska and Sanutee 
among them, as had not been present in the first distri- 
bution. The survey of Sanutee, and the silence which 
followed his first appearance within the circle, lasted 
not long : abruptly, and with a voice of strong but re- 
strained emotion, addressing no one in particular, but 
with a glance almost exclusively given to the com- 
missioners, he at length exclaimed as follows, in his 
own strong language : — " Who came to the lodge of 
Sanutee to say that the chiefs were in eouncil l Is 
not Sanutee a chief? — the Yemassees call him so, or he 
dreams. Is he not the well-beloved of the Yemassees, 
or have his- brothers taken from him the totem of his 
tribe ? Look, chiefs, is the broad arrow of Yemassee 
gone from the shoulder of Sanutee ?" and as he spoke, 
throwing the loose hunting shirt open to the shoulder 
he displayed to the gaze of all, the curved arrow 
which is the badge of the Yemassees. A general 


silence in the assembly succeeded this speech — none of 
them caring to answer for an omission equally charge 
able upon all. The eye of the chief lowered scorn- 
fully as it swept the circle, taking in each face with its 
glance ; then, throwing from his arm the thick bear- 
skin which he carried, upon a vacant spot in the circle, 
he took his seat with the slow and sufficient dignity of 
a Roman senator, speaking as he descended. 

" It is well — Sanutee is here in the council — he is a 
chief of the Yemassees. He has ears for the words 
of the English." 

Granger, the trader and interpreter, who stood 
behind the commissioners, signified to them the willing- 
ness conveyed in the last words of Sanutee, to hear 
what they had to say, and Sir Edmund Bellinger — then 
newly created a landgrave, one of the titles of Caro- 
linian nobility — the head of the deputation, arose 
accordingly, and addressing himself to the new comer, 
rather than to the assembly, proceeded to renew those 
pledges and protestations which he had already uttered 
to the rest. His speech was immediately interpreted 
by Granger, who, residing in Pocota-ligo, was famil- 
iar with their language. 

;i Chiefs of the Yemassee," said Sir Edmund Bellin- 
ger — " we come from your English brothers, and we 
bring peace with this belt of wampum. They have 
told us to say to you that one house covers the English 
and the Yemassee. There is no strife between us — 
we are like the children of one father, and to prove 
their faith they have sent us with words of good-will 
and friendship, and to you, Sanutee, as the well- 
beloved chief of the Yemassee, they send this coat 
which they have worn close to their hearts, and which 
they would have you wear in like manner, in proof of 
the love that is between us." 

Thus saying, the chief of the deputation presented, 
through the medium of Granger, a rich but gaudy 
cloak, such as had already been given to Huspah ; — ■ 
but putting the interpreter aside and rejecting the gift, 
Sanutee sternly replied — 


" Our English brother is good, but Sanutee asks not 
for the cloak. Does Sanutee complain of the cold ?'" 

Granger rendered this, and Bellinger addressed him 
in reply — 

" The chief Sanutee will not reject the gift of his 
English brother." 

" Does the white chief come to the great council ol 
the Yemassees as a fur trader ? Would he have skins 
for his coat V was the reply. 

" No, Sanutee — the English chief is a great chief, 
and does not barter for skins." 

" A great chief? — he came to the Yemassee a little 
child, and we took him into our lodges. We gave him 
meat and water — " 

" We know this, Sanutee." But the Yemassee went 
on without heeding the interruption. 

" We helped him with a staff as he tottered through 
the thick wood." 

" True, Sanutee." 

" We showed him how to trap the beaver,* and to 
hunt the deer — we made him a lodge for his woman ; 
and we sent our young men on the war-path against his 

" We have not forgotten, we have denied none of the 
services, Sanutee, which yourself and peoole have done 
for us," said the deputy. 

" And now he sends us a coat !" and as the chief 
uttered this unlooked-for anti-climax, his eye glared 
scornfully around upon the subservient portion of the 
assembly. Somewhat mortified with the tenour of the 
sentence which the interpreter in the meantime had 
repeated to him, Sir Edmund Bellinger would have 
answered the refractory chief — 

" No, but, Sanutee — " 

Without heeding or seeming to hear him, the old 
warrior went on — 

" He sends good words to the Yemassee, he gives 
him painted glass, and makes him blind with a water 

* The beaver, originally taken in Carolina, is now extinct. 


which is poison — his shot rings over our forests — we 
hide from his long knife in the cold swamp, while 
the copper snake creeps over us as we sleep." 

As soon as the deputy comprehended this speech 
he replied — 

" You do us wrong, Sanutee, — you have nothing to 
fear from the English." 

Without waiting for the aid of the interpreter, the 
chief, who had acquired a considerable knowledge of 
the simpler portions of the language, and to whom this 
sentence was clear enough, immediately and indig- 
nantly exclaimed in his own — addressing the chiefs, 
rather than replying to the Englishman. 

" Fear, — Sanutee has no fear of (the English — he 
fears not the Manneyto. He only fears that his people 
may go blind with the English poison drink, — that the 
great chiefs of the Yemassee may sell him for a slave 
to the English, to plant his maize and to be beaten 
with a stick. But let the ears of the chiefs hear the 
voice of Sanutee — the Yemassee shall not be the slave 
of the pale-face." 

" There is no reason for this fear, Sanutee — the 
English have always been the friends of your people," 
said the chief of the deputation. 

" Would the English have more land from the Ye- 
massee ? Let him speak, Granger — put the words of 
Sanutee in his ear. Why does he not speak?" 

Granger did as directed, and Sir Edmund replied : — 

" The English do want to buy some of the land of 
your people — " 

" Did not Sanutee say ? And the coat is for the land,' 
quickly exclaimed the old chief, speaking this time ir 
the English language. 

"No, Sanutee," was the reply — "the coat is a free 
gift from the English. They ask for nothing in return 
But we would buy your land with other things — we 
would buy on the same terms with that which we bought 
from the Cassique of Combahee." 

" The Cassique of Combahee is a dog — he sells the 
grave of his father. I will not sell the land of my peo- 


pie. The Yemassee loves the old trees, and the smooth 
waters where he was born, and where the bones of the 
old warriors lie buried. I speak to you, chiefs — it is 
the voice of Sanutee. Hear his tongue — it has ne 
fork — look on his face, it does not show lies. These 
are scars of battle, when I stood up for my people 
There is a name for these scars — they do not lie. 
Hear me, then." 

" Our ears watch," was the general response, as he 
made his address to the council. 

" It is good. — Chiefs of the Yemassee, now hear. 
Why comes the English to the lodge of our people 1 
Why comes he with a red coat to the chief — why brings 
he beads and paints for the eye of a little boy 1 Why 
brings he the strong water for the young man ? Why 
makes he long speeches, full of smooth words — why 
does he call us brother ? He wants our lands. But 
we have no lands to sell. The lands came from our 
fathers — they must go to our children. They do not 
belong to us to sell — they belong to our children to 
keep. We have sold too much land, and the old tur- 
key, before the sun sinks behind the trees, can fly over 
all the land that is ours. Shall the turkey have more 
land in a day than the Yemassee has for his children? 
Speak for the Yemassee, chiefs of the broad-arrow — 
speak for the Yemassee — speak Ishiagaska — speak 
Choluculla — speak, thou friend of Manneyto, whose 
words are true as the sun, and whose wisdom comes 
swifter than the lightning — speak, prophet — speak Eno- 
ree-Mattee — speak for the Yemassee." 

To the high-priest, or rather the great prophet of 
the nation, the latter portion of the speech of Sanutee 
had been addressed. He was a cold, dark, stern look- 
ing man, gaudily arrayed in a flowing garment of red, 
a present from the whites at an early period, while a 
fillet around his head, of cloth stuck with the richest 
feathers, formed a distinguishing feature of dress from 
any of the rest. His voice, next to that of Sanutee, 
was potential among the Indians ; and the chief well 
knew, in appealing to him. Choluculla and Ishiagaska, 


that he was secure of these, if of none other in the 

" Enoree-Mattee is the great prophet of Manneyto — 
he will not sell the lands of Yemassee." 

" 'Tis well — speak, Ishiagaska — speak, Choluculla" 
- -exclaimed Sanutee. 

They replied in the same moment : — 

" The English shall have no land from the Yemassee. 
It is the voice of Ishiagaska — it is the voice of Cholu- 

" It is the voice of Sanutee — it is the voice of the 
prophet — it is the voice of the Manneyto himself," 
cried Sanutee, with a tone of thunder, and with a sol- 
emn emphasis of manner that seemed to set at rest all 
further controversy on the subject. But the voices 
which had thus spoken were all that spoke on this 
side of the question. The English had not. been inac- 
tive heretofore, and what with the influence gained 
by their numerous presents and promises to the other 
chiefs, and the no less influential dislike and jealousy 
which the latter entertained for the few more con- 
trolling spirits taking the stand just narrated, the 
minds of the greater number had been well prepared 
to make any treaty which might be required of them, 
trusting to their own influence somewhat, but more 
to the attractions of the gewgaws given in return for 
their lands, to make their peace with the great body of 
the people in the event of their dissatisfaction. Ac- 
cordingly, Sanutee had scarcely taken his seat, when 
one of the most hostile among them, a brave but dis- 
honest chief, now arose, and addressing himself chiefly 
to Sanutee, thus furnished much of the feeling and 
answer for the rest : — 

" Does Sanutee speak for the Yemassee — and where 
are the other chiefs of the broad-arrow 1 Where are 
Metatchee and Huspah — where is Oonalatchie, where 
is Jarratay- ^are they not here ? It is gone from me 
when they sung the death-song, and went afar to the 
blessed valley of Manneyto. They are not gone — 
they live — they have voices and can speak for the Ye- 

Vol. I. 9 


massee. Sanutee may say, Ishiagaska may say, the 
prophet may say — but they say not for Manney wanto. 
There are brave chiefs of the Yemassee, yet we hear 
only Sanutee. Sanutee ! cha ! cha ! I am here — I — 
Manney wanto. I speak for the trade with our English 
brother. The Yemassee will sell the land to their 
brothers." He was followed by another and another, 
all in the affirmative. 

" Metatchee will trade with the English. The Eng- 
lish is the brother to Yemassee." 

" Oorralatchie will sell the land to the English broth- 

And so on in succession, all but the four first speak- 
ers, the assembled chiefs proceeded to sanction the 
proposed treaty, the terms of which had been submitted 
to them before. To the declaration of each, equiva- 
lent as it was to the vote given in our assemblies, 
Sanutee had but a single speech. 

" It is well ! It is well !" And he listened to the 
votes in succession approving of the trade, until, 
rising from a corner of the apartment in which, lying 
prostrate, he had till then been out of the sight of the 
assembly and entirely concealed from the eye of San- 
utee, a tall young warrior, pushing aside the torch- 
bearers, staggered forth into the ring. He had evi- 
dently been much intoxicated, though now recovering 
from its effects ; and, but for the swollen face and the 
watery eye, the uncertain and now undignified carriage. 
he might well have been considered a fine specimen of 
savage symmetry and manly beauty. When his voice 
declaring also for the barter, struck upon the ear of the 
old chief, he started round as if an arrow had suddenly 
gone into his heart — then remained still, silently con- 
templating the speaker, who, in a stupid and incohe- 
rent manner, proceeded to eulogize the English as the 
true friends and dear brothers of the Yemassees. 
Granger, the trader and interpreter, beholding the fin- 
gers of Sanutee gripe the handle of his tomahawk, whis- 
pered in the ears of Sir Edmund Bellinger — 

" Now would I not be Occonestoga for the worM 


Sanutee will tomahawk him before the stupid youth 
can get out of the way." 

Before the person addressed could reply to the inter- 
preter, his prediction was in part, and, but for the ready 
presence of the Englishman, would have been wholly, 
verified. Scarcely had the young chief finished his 
maudlin speech, when, with a horrible grin, seemingly 
of laughter, Sanutee leaped forward, and with uplifted 
arm and descending blow, would have driven the 
hatchet deep into the scull of the only half-conscious 
youth, when Sir Edmund seized the arm of the fierce 
old man in time to defeat the effort. 

" Wouldst thou slay thy own son, Sanutee ?" 
"He is thy slave — he is not the son of Sanutee. 
Thou hast made him a dog with thy poison water, till 
he would sell thee his own mother to carry water for 
thy women. Hold me not, Englishman — I will strike 
the slave — I will strike thee too, thou that art his mas- 
ter ;" and with a fury and strength which required the 
restraining power of half a dozen, he laboured to effect 
his object. They succeeded, however, in keeping 
him back, until the besotted youth had been safely hur- 
ried from the apartment ; when, silenced and stilled by 
the strong reaction of his excitement, the old chief 
sunk down again upon his bearskin seat in a stupor, 
until the parchment conveying the terms of the treaty, 
with pens and ink, provided by Granger for their sig- 
natures, was handed to Huspah, for his own and the 
marks of the chiefs. Sanutee looked on with some 
watchfulness, but moved not until one of the attendants 
brought in the skin of a dog filled with earth and 
tightly secured with thongs, giving it the appearance of 
a sack. Taking this sack in his hands, Huspah, who 
had been half asleep during the proceedings, now arose, 
and repeating the words of general concurrence in the 
sale of the lands, proceeded to the completion of the 
treaty by conveying the sack which held some of the 
soil to the hands of the commissioners. But Sanutee 
again rushed forward ; and seizing the sack from the 
proffering hand of Huspah, he hurled it to the ground, 
E 2 . 


trampled it under foot, and poured forth, as he did so. 
an appeal to the patriotism of the chiefs in a JtSnS 

utterly despair to render into ours. He implored 
hem, holding as they did the destinies of theTat on 
m their hands, to forbear its sacrifice. He compared 

rv SK'lt I' I" 6 " fatherS ' in Value ' -th X P pal- 
£y gifts for which they were required to give them ud 
He .dwelt upon the limited province, evef now which 
had been left them for the chase ; spoke of the daHv 
mcu r s lons and injuries Qf the wift R oMhe dai y 

bold forms of phrase and figure known among all prf£! 

ul^fe r H Wh ° m , metaph ° r and P-onific P a on 
supply the deficiency and make up for the poverty of 

language he implored them not to yield up the bones 

of their fathers, nor admit the stranger to contact wih 

the sacred town, given them by the Manneyto Trd 

va r n hl tZEffi t0 WS """^ But he V*e in 

of the adder Th "? 7? im P enetrable td those 
oi the adder. They had been bought and sold and 

they had no scruple to sell their country. He was 

supported by the few who had spoken wit/him agafns 

the trade, but what availed patriotism against numbers? 

fecte y drhTcb Unheeded ' ^ beh ° ldin ^ ?he -"tract efl 

lan£ fl a \f VeUpanimmenSe b0d ? of the " best 
lands for a strange assortment of hatchets, knives 
blanke s, brads, beads, and other commodities ohke 
character, Sanutee, followed by his three friends, rushed 
forth precipitately, and with a desperate purpose frorn 
th« traitorous assembly. purpose, irom 



" A. vengeance for the traitors ; vengeance deep 
As is their treason — curses loud, and long, 
Surpassing their own infamy and guilt." 

But the " Well-Beloved" was not disposed to yield up 
the territory of his forefathers without farther struggle. 
Though governed by chiefs, the Yemassees were yet 
something of a republic, and the appeal of the old 
patriot now lay with the people. He was much better 
acquainted with the popular feeling than those who 
had so far sacrificed it ; and though maddened with 
indignation, he was yet sufficiently cool to 'determine 
the most effectual course for the attainment of his 
object. Not suspecting his design, the remaining 
chiefs continued in council, in deliberations of one 
sort or another, probably in adjusting the mode of 
distributing their spoils ; while the English commis- 
sioners, having succeeded in their object, retired for 
the night to the dwelling of Granger, the Indian trader — 
a Scotch adventurer, who had been permitted to take up 
his abode in the village, and from his quiet, unobtru- 
sive, and conciliatory habits, had contrived to secure 
much of the respect and good regard of the Yemas- 
sees. Sanutee, meanwhile, dividing his proposed 
undertaking with his three companions, Enoree-Mattee 
the prophet, Ishiagaska, and Choluculla, all of whom 
were privy to the meditated insurrection, went from 
lodge to lodge of the most influential and forward of 
the Yemassees. Nor did he confine himself to these. 
The rash, the thoughtless, the ignorant — all were 
aroused by his eloquence. To each of these he 
detailed the recent proceedings of council, and, in his 
own vehement manner, explained the evil consequen- 
ces to the people of such a treaty ; taking care to 
shape his information to the mind or mood of each 


particular individual to whom he spoke. To one, he 
painted the growing insolence of the whites, increasing 
with their increasing strength, almost too great, 
already, for any control or management from them 
To another, he described the ancient glories of his 
nation, rapidly departing in the subservience with 
which their chiefs acknowledged the influence, and 
truckled to the desires of the English. To a third, 
he deplored the loss of the noble forests of his fore- 
fathers, hewn down by the axe, to make way for the 
bald fields of the settler ; despoiled of game, and 
leaving the means of life utterly problematical to the 
hunter. In this way, with a speech accommodated to 
every feeling and understanding, he went over the 
town. To all, he dwelt with Indian emphasis upon 
the sacrilegious appropriation of the old burial-places 
of the Yemassee — one of which, a huge tumulus upon 
the edge of the river, lay almost in their sight, and 
traces of which survive to this day, in melancholy attes- 
tation of their past history. The effect of these repre- 
sentations — of these appeals — coming from one so 
well beloved, and so highly esteemed for wisdom and 
love of country, as Sanutee, was that of a moral 
earthquake ; and his soul triumphed with hope, as he 
beheld them rushing onward to the gathering crowd, 
and shouting furiously, as they bared the knife, and 
shook the tomahawk in air — " Sangarrah, Sangarrah-me, 
Yemassee — Sangarrah, Sangarrah-me, Yemassee — " 
the bloody war-cry of the nation. To overthrow the 
power of the chiefs, there was but one mode ; and the 
impelling directions of Sanutee and the three coadju- 
tors already mentioned, drove by concert the infuriated 
mob to the house of council, where the chiefs were 
still in session. 

" It is Huspah, that has sold the Yemassee to bo a 
woman," was the cry of one — " Sangarrah-me — he 
shall die." 

" He hath cut off the legs of our children, so that 
they walk no longer — he hath given away our lands to 
the pale-faces — Sangarrah-me — he shall die !" 


"They shall all die — have they not planted corn 
in the bosom of my mother ?" — cried another, refer- 
ring, figuratively, to the supposed use which the Eng- 
lish would make of the lands they had bought ; and, 
furiously aroused, they struck their hatchets against 
the house of council, commanding the chiefs within 
to come forth, and deliver themselves up to their ven- 
geance. But, warned of their danger, the beleaguered 
rulers had carefully secured the entrance ; and trust- 
ing that the popular ebullition would soon be quieted, 
they fondly hoped to maintain their position until such 
period. But the obstacle thus offered to the progress 
of the mob, only served the more greatly to inflame it ; 
and a hundred hands were busy in procuring piles of 
fuel, with which to fire the building. The torches 
were soon brought, the blaze kindled at different 
points, and but little was now wanting to the confla- 
gration which must have consumed all within or 
driven them forth upon the weapons of the besiegers ; 
when, all of a sudden, Sanutee made his appearance, 
and with a single word arrested the movement. 

" Manneyto, Manneyto — " exclaimed the old chief, 
with the utmost powers of his voice, and the solemn 
adjuration reached to the remotest incendiary and 
arrested the application of the torch. Every eye was 
turned upon him, curious to ascertain the occasion of an 
exclamation so much at variance with the purpose of 
their gathering, and so utterly unlooked-for from lips 
which had principally instigated it. But the glance 
of Sanutee indicated a mind unconscious of the effect 
which it had produced. His eye was fixed upon 
another object, which seemed to exercise a fascinating 
influence upon him. His hands were outstretched, his 
lips parted, as it were, in amazement and awe, and his 
whole attitude was that of devotion. The eyes of 
the assembly followed the direction of his, and every 
bosom thrilled with the wildest throes of natural super- 
stition, as they beheld Enoree-Mattee the prophet, 
writhing upon the ground at a little distance in the 
most horrible convulsions. The glare of the torches 


around him showed the angry distortions of every 
feature. His eyes were protruded, as if bursting from 
their sockets — his tongue hung from his widely dis- 
tended jaws, covered with foam — while his hands and 
legs seemed doubled up, like a knotted band of snakes, 
huddling in uncouth sports in midsummer. 

" Opitchi-Manneyto — Opitchi-Manneyto — here are 
arrows — we burn arrows to thee ; we burn red feath- 
ers to thee, Opitchi-Manneyto" — was the universal 
cry of deprecatory prayer and promise, which the 
assembled mass sent up to their evil deity, whose pres- 
ence and power they supposed themselves to behold, 
in the agonized workings of their prophet. A yell of 
savage terror then burst from the lips of the inspired 
priest, and rising from the ground, as one relieved, but 
pregnant with a sacred fury, he waved his hand towards 
the council-house, and rushed headlong into the crowd, 
with a sort of anthem, which, as it was immediately 
chorused by the mass, must have been usual to such 

" The arrows — 

The feathers — 

The dried scalps, and the teeth, 

The teeth from slaughtered enemies — 

Where are they — where are they ? 
We burn them for thee, — black spirit — 
We burn them for thee, Opitchi-Manneyto — 

Leave us, leave us, black spirit." 

The crowd sung forth this imploring deprecation of 
the demon's wrath ; and then, as if something more 
relieved, Enoree-Mattee uttered of himself — 

" I hear thee, Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Thy words are in my ears, 
They are words for the Yemassee ; 
And the prophet, shall speak them — 
Leave us, leave us, black spirit." 

" Leave us, leave us, black spirit. Go to thy red 
home, Opitchi-Manneyto — let us hear the words of 
the prophet — we give ear to Enoree-Mattee." 

Thus called upon, the prophet advanced to the side 
of Sanutee, who had all this while preserved an atti- 


t«de of the profoundest devotion. He came forward, 
with all the look of inspiration, and his words were 
poured forth in an uncouth rhythm, which was doubtless 
the highest pitch of lyric poetry among them. 

" Let the Yemassee have ears, 
For Opitchi-Manneyto — 
'Tis Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not the prophet, now that speaks. 
Hear Opitchi-Manneyto. 

" In my agony, he came, 
And he hurl'd me to the ground ; 
Dragged me through the twisted hush, 
Put his hand upon my throat, 
Breathed his fire into my mouth — 
That Opitchi-Manneyto. 

" And he said to me in wrath, — 
Listen, what he said to me ; 
Hear the prophet, Yemassees — 
For he spoke to me in wrath ; 
He was angry with my sons, 
For he saw them bent to slay, 
Bent to strike the council-chiefs, 
And he would not have them slain, 
That Opitchi-Manneyto." 

As the prophet finished the line that seemed to 
deny them the revenge which they had promised them- 
selves upon their chiefs, the assembled multitude mur- 
mured audibly, and Sanutee, than whom no better 
politician lived in the nation, knowing well that the 
show of concession is the best mode of execution 
among the million, came forward, and seemed to ad- 
dress the prophet, while his speech was evidently 
meant for them. 

" Wherefore, Enoree-Mattee, should Opitchi-Man- 
neyto save the false chiefs who have robbed their peo- 
ple ! Shall we not have their blood — shall we not 
hang their scalps in the tree — shall we not bury their 
heads in the mud ? Wherefore this strange word from 
Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore would he save the trai- 
tors V 

" It is the well-beloved — it is the well-beloved of 
Manneyto — speak, prophet, to Sanutee," was the gen- 
eral cry ; and the howl, which at that moment had been 
E 3 


universal* was succeeded by the hush and awful still- 
ness of 4?he grave. The prophet was not slow to answer 
for ihfc«l|emon, in the style of his previous haranpue. 


»" 'Tis Opitchi-Manneyto, 

Not the prophet now that speaks, 
Give him ear then, Yemassee, 
Hear Opitchi-Manneyto. 

" Says Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Wherefore are my slaves so few — 
Not for me the gallant chief, 
Slaughtered by the Yemassee — 
Blest, the slaughtered chief must go, 
To the happy home that lies 
In the bosom of the hills, 
Where the game is never less, 
Though the hunter always slays — 
Where the plum-groves always bloom, 
And the hunter never sleeps. 

" Says Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Wherefore are my slaves so few? 
Shall the Yemassee give death — 
Says Opitchi-Manneyto — 
To the traitor, to the slave, 
Who would sell the Yemassee — 
Who would sell his father's bones, 
And- behold the green corn grow 
From his wife's and mother's breast. 

" Death is for the gallant chief, 
Says Opitchi-Manneyto. — 
Life is for the traitor slave, 
But a life that none may know — 
With a shame that all may see. 

" Thus, Opitchi-Manneyto, 
To his sons, the Yemassee — 
Take the traitor chiefs, says he, 
Make them slaves, to wait on me. 
Bid Malatchie take the chiefs, 
He, the executioner — 
Take the chiefs and bind them down, 
Cut the totem from each arm, 
So that none may know the slaves, 
Not their fathers, not their mothers — 
Children, wives, that none may know- 
Not the tribes that look upon, 
Not the young men of their own, 
Not the people, not the chiefs — 
Not the good Manneyto know. 


" Thus Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Make these traitors slaves for me : 
Then the blessed valley lost, 
And the friends and chiefs they knew, 
None shall know them, all shall flee* 
Make them slaves to wait on me — 
Hear Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Thus, his prophet speaks for him, 
To the mighty Yemassee." 

The will of the evil deity thus conveyed to the In- 
dians by the prophet, carried with it a refinement in 
the art of punishment to which civilization has not of- 
ten attained. According to the pneumatology of the 
Yemassees, the depriving the criminal of life did not 
confer degradation or shame ; for his burial ceremo- 
nies were precisely such as were allotted to those dy- 
ing in the very sanctity and fullest odour of favourable 
public opinion. But this was not the case when the 
totem or badge of his tribe had been removed from 
that portion of his person where it had been the cus- 
tom of the people to tatoo it ; for without this totem, 
no other nation could recognise them, their own reso- 
lutely refused to do it, and, at their death, the great 
Manneyto would reject them from the plum-groves 
and the happy valley, when the fierce Opitchi-Man- 
neyto, the evil demon, whom they invoked with as 
much, if not more earnestness than the good, was al- 
ways secure of his prey. A solemn awe succeeded 
for a moment this awful annunciation among the crowd ; 
duly exaggerated by the long and painful howl of ago- 
ny with which the doomed traitors within the council-), 
house, who had been listening, were made conscious 
of its complete purport. Then came a shout of tri- 
umphant revenge from those without, who now, with 
minds duly directed to the new design, were as reso- 
lute to preserve the lives of the chiefs as they had be- 
fore been anxious to destroy them. Encircling the coun~ 
cil-house closely in order to prevent their escape, they 
determined patiently to adopt such measures as should 
best secure them as prisoners. The policy of Sanu- 
tee, for it will scarcely need that we point to him as 
the true deviser of the present scheme, was an admi 


rable one in considering the Indian character. — To 
overthrow the chiefs properly, and at the same time to 
discourage communication with the English, it was 
better to degrade than to destroy them. The popu- 
lace may sympathize with the victim whose blood they 
have shed, for death in all countries goes far to cancel 
the memory of offence ; but they seldom restore to 
their estimation the individual they have themselves 
degraded. The mob, in this respect, seems to be duly 
conscious of the hangman filthiness of its own fingers. 


" This makes of thee a master, me a slave, 
And I destroy it ; we are equal now." 

A not less exciting scene was now going on within 
the council-chamber. There, all was ! confusion and 
despair. The shock of such a doom as that which the 
chiefs had heard pronounced by the people, under the 
influence of the prophet, came upon them like a bolt 
of thunder. For a moment it paralyzed with its terrors 
the hearts of those who had no fear of death. The 
mere loss of life is always an event of triumph with the 
brave of the Indians, for the due ennobling of which, 
his song of past victories and achievements, carefully 
chronicled by a memory which has scarcely any other 
employment, is shouted forth in the most acute physi- 
cal agony, with a spirit that nothing can bend or 
conquer. But to deprive him of this memory — to 
eradicate all the marks of his achievements— to take 
from him the only credential by which he operates 
among his fellows and claims a place in the ranks of 
the illustrious dead — was a refinement upon the ter- 
rors of punishment, which, unfrequently practised, 
was held as a terror, intended to paralyze, as in the 
present instance, every thing of morai courage which 


the victim might possess. For a moment such was 
its effect in the assembly of the chiefs. The solitary 
howl of despair which their unanimous voices sent up 
as the first intimation of the decree met their ears, 
was succeeded by the deepest silence, while they 
threw themselves upon their faces, and the torch- 
bearers, burying their torches in the clay floor of the 
building, with something of that hate and horror which 
seemed to distinguish the body of the Indians without,, 
rushed forth from the apartment and joined with the 
assembled people. Their departure aroused the de- 
spairing inmates, and while one of them carefully 
again closed the entrance before the watchful mass 
without could avail themselves of the opening, the rest 
prepared themselves with a renewed courage to de- 
liberate upon their situation. 

" There is death for Manneywanto," exclaimed that 
fierce warrior and chief — " he will not lose the arrow 
of his tribe. I will go forth to the hatchet. I will 
lift my arm, and strike so that they shall slay." 

" Let them put the knife to the heart of Oonalatchie," 
cried another — " but not to the arrow upon his 
shoulder. He will go forth with Manneywanto." 

The determination of the whole was soon made. 
Huspah, the superior but superannuated chief, totter- 
ing in advance, and singing mournfully the song of 
death with which the Indian always prepares for its ap- 
proach, the song became general with the victims, and 
with drawn knives and ready hatchets, they threw wide 
the entrance, and rushing forth with a fury duly height- 
ened by the utter hopelessness of escape, they struck 
desperately on all sides among the hundreds by whom 
they were beleaguered. But they had been waited and 
prepared for, and forbearing to strike in return, and 
freely risking their own lives, the Indians were content 
to bear them down by the force of numbers. The 
more feeble among them fell under the pressure. Of 
these was Huspah the king, whom the crowd im- 
mediately dragged from the press, and in spite of the 
exertions of Sanutee, who desired the observance of. 
I. 10 


some formalities which marked the ceremony, they 
fiercely cut away the flesh of the arm bearing the 
insignia, while his shrieks of despair and defiance, 
reaching the ears of his comrades, still struggling, 
heightened their desperation and made their arrest 
the more difficult. But the strife was in a little time 
over. The crowd triumphed, and the chiefs, still living 
and unhurt, saving only a few bruises which were un- 
avoidable in the affray, were all secured but Manney- 
wanto. That powerful and ferocious chief manfully 
battled with a skill and strength that knew no abate- 
ment from its exercise, and seemed only heightened by 
the opposition. A friendly hand, at length, whose 
stroke he blessed, encountered him in the crowd and 
severed his scull with a hatchet. He was the only 
individual of the traitors by whom the vengeance of the 
Indians was defrauded ; not another of the clan proved 
fortunate in his desperation. The survivers were all 
securely taken, and, carefully bound with thongs, were 
borne away to the great tumulus, upon which the 
doom was to be put in execution. In an hour after 
they were expatriated men, flying desperately to 
the forests, homeless, nationless, outcasts from God and 
man, yet destined to live. It is remarkable that in all 
this time, suicide never entered the thoughts of the 
victims. It forms no part of the Indian's philosophy, 
and the Roman might have won a lesson from the 
Yemassee, in this respect, which would have ennobled 
his Catos. 

Meanwhile the deputation of the Carolinians lay at 
the house of Granger, full of apprehensions for their 
common safety. Nor was Granger himself less so. He 
felt assured of the danger, and only relied upon the 
interposition of Sanutee, which he knew to be all- 
powerful, and which, looking on the outbreak of the 
•people as the result of their own impulse, he saw no 
reason to imagine would be denied on the present 
occasion. From their place of retreat, which lay on 
the skirts of the town and nigh the river, the embassy 
could hear the outcries and clamours of the Indians 


without being acquainted with particulars ; and when 
at length they beheld the flames ascending from the 
house of council, which, when they had seized upon 
the chiefs, the rioters had fired, believing the chiefs 
consumed in the conflagration, they gave themselves 
up for lost. They did not doubt that the fury which 
had sacrificed so many and such influential persons 
would scarcely be satisfied to allow of their escape ; 
and firmly impressed with the conviction that their 
trial was at hand, Sir Edmund Bellinger drew his 
sword, and, followed by the rest of the deputation, pre- 
pared for a conflict in which they had but one hope, 
and that lay in selling the life dearly, which seemed 
so certainly forfeited. 

In this mood of mind they waited the coming of the 
storm, nor were they long kept in suspense. Having 
beheld the fearful doom carried into effect, and seen 
their ancient rulers scourged out of the town, the 
revolutionists rushed headlong, and with an appetite 
for blood duly heightened by the little they had seen, 
to the dwelling of the trader — vowing as they hurried 
along, to their infernal deity, Opitchi-Manneyto, an in- 
crease of slaves in the persons of the Englishmen, 
whom they proposed to sacrifice by fire. On their 
way, mistaking one of their own people who had 
dressed himself somewhat after the fashion of the 
English, in a dress which had been discarded by some 
white man, they dashed him to the earth, trampled and 
nearly tore him into pieces before discovering the 
mistake. In such a temper, they appeared before the 
dwelling of the trader, and with loud shouts demanded 
their prey. 

Determined upon stout resistance to the last, the 
commissioners had barricadoed the little dwelling as 
well as they could ; and doubtless, for a small space of 
time, would have made it tenable ; but fortunately for 
them, just as the furious savages were about to apply 
the fatal torch to the building, the appearance of Eno- 
ree-Mattee and Sanutee, spared them an issue which 
could have only terminated in their murder. Sanutee 


had his game to play, and though perfectly indifferent 
as to the fate of the commissioners, yet, as his hope in 
the forthcoming insurrection lay in taking the Caroli- 
nians by surprise, it was his policy to impress confi- 
dence rather than distrust upon them. He aimed now 
to divest the embassy of all suspicion, and to confine 
the show of indignation made by the Yemassees, en- 
tirely to the chiefs who liad so abused their power. 

Addressing the mob, he controlled it in his own man- 
ner, and telling them that they wanted nothing from the 
English but the treaty which had so fraudulently been 
entered into by their chiefs, he engaged to them to ef 
feet its restoration, along with the skin of earth, which, 
completing the bargain, was equivalent in their esti- 
mation, not less to legal right than to actual possession. 
After some demur, Granger admitted the chief, who came 
alone to the presence of the deputation, the chairman 
of which thus sternly addressed him ; — 

" Are the English dogs," said Sir Edmund Bellinger, 
" that thy people hunt them with cries and fire 1 
Wherefore is this, Sanutee ?" 

"The English have the lands of my people, and 
therefore my people hunt them. The bad chiefs who 
sold the land as chiefs of the Yemassee, are chiefs 
no longer." 

" Thou hast slain them?" inquired Sir Edmund. 

" No, but they are dead — dead to Sanutee — dead to 
the Yemassee — dead to Manneyto. They are dogs — 
the English have slaves in the woods." 

" But their acts are good with us, and the English 
will proteot them, Sanutee, and will punish their ene- 
mies. Beware, chief — I tell thee there is danger for 
thy people." 

" It is good. Does the white chief hear my people ? 
They cry for blood. They would drink it from thy 
heart, but Sanutee is the friend of the English. They 
shall touch thee not, to harm." 

" Thou hast said well, Sanutee, and I expected no 
less from thee ; but why do they not go ? Why do they 
still surround our dwelling?" 


" They wait for the wampum — they would tear the 
skin which carries the land of the Yemassee ;" and the 
chief, as he spoke, pointed to the treaty and the sack 
of earth which lay by the side of Bellinger. He pro- 
ceeded to tell them that they should be secure when 
these were re-delivered to the Indians. But with tha 
commissioners it was a point of honour not to restore 
the treaty which they had obtained from the rulers de 
facto of the people — certainly, not to a lawless mob ; 
and regarding only the high trust of which he had 
charge, the speech of the chief commissioner was in- 
stantaneous : — 

" Never, Sanutee, never — only with my blood. Go 
— you have my answer. We shall fight to the last, 
and our blood be upon the heads of your people. They 
will pay dearly for every drop of it they spill." 

" It is well — " said Sanutee, " It is well : Sanutee 
will go back to his people, and the knife of the Yemas- 
see will dig for his land in the heart of the English." 
He left the house, and with gloomy resignation, Bel- 
linger, with the other commissioners and Granger, pre- 
pared for the coming storm with all their philosophy. 
In a few moments the anticipated commotion began. 
The populace, but a little before silent and patient, now 
chafed and roared like a stormy ocean, and the fierce 
cry of Sangarrah-me, the cry for blood, went up from a 
thousand voices. The torches were brought forward, 
and the deputies, firm and fearless enough, saw no hope 
even of a chance for the use of their weapons. The 
two subordinates, with Granger, looked imploringly to 
Bellinger, but the stern chief paced the apartment un- 
bendingly, though seemingly well aware of all the 
dangers of their situation. At that moment the wife of 
Granger — a tall, fine looking woman, of much mascu- 
ine beauty, appeared from an inner apartment, and 
*efore she had been observed by either of the com- 
nissioners, seizing upon the little skin of earth and the 
parchment at the same moment, without a word, she 
threw open the door, and cried out to Sanutee to receive 
mem. This was all done in an instant, and before the 


stern commissioner could see or interfere, the deposites, 
placed in the grasp of the savages, were torn into a 
thousand pieces. 

" Woman, how darest thou do this !" — was the first 
sentence of Bellinger to the person who had thus yielded 
up his trust. But she fearlessly confronted him — 

" My life is precious to me, my lord, though you 
may be regardless of yours. The treaty is nothing 
now to the Yemassees, who have destroyed their chiefs 
on account of it. To have kept it would have done 
no good, but must have been destructive to us all. San- 
utee will keep his word, and our lives are now saved." 

It was evident that she was right, and Bellinger was 
wise enough to see it. He said nothing farther, glad, 
perhaps, that the responsibility of the trust had been 
thus removed from him — and, true to his word, Sami- 
tee now reappeared among them. The crowd was 
pacified by his exhortations rather than by the con- 
cession, and the storm was rapidly subsiding. A 
little delay followed, in which the commissioners were 
busy in making preparations for their departure, and 
waiting, under Sanutee's suggestion, the disappearance 
of the people, which he assured them would take place 
soon. The clamour having subsided, they prepared 
to go forth under the protection and presence of the 
old chief, which the proud Sir Edmund Bellinger in- 
dignantly, but in vain, refused. Seeing that Granger 
and his wife remained, Sanutee turned suddenly upon 
him, and in a low tone, unheard by the commissioners, 
asked why he did not prepare to go also. He an- 
swered by avowing his'Villingness still to remain in 
Pocota-ligo as before, for the purposes of trade. 

" Go — Sanutee is good friend to Granger, and to his 
woman. Go all — there is fire and a knife in the hand 
of the Yemassees, and they will drink a deep draught 
from the heart of the pale-faces. If Granger will not 
go from Yemassee, look, the hatchet of Sanutee is 
ready ;" and he raised it as he spoke — " Sanutee will 
save Granger from the fire-death." 

This is the last service which the Indian warrior 


may do his friend, and Granger understood the extent 
of his danger from this proffer, meant as a kindness 
on the part of the old chief. He needed no second 
exhortation to a remove, and though the hope of gain 
and a prosperous trade had encouraged him hitherto 
to risk every thing in his present residence, the love 
of life proved stronger ; for he well knew that Sanu- 
tee seldom spoke without reason. Packing up, there- 
fore, with, the aid of his wife, the little remaining stock 
in trade which he possessed, and which a couple of 
good-sized bundles readily comprised, they took their 
way along with the commissioners, and, guided by 
Sanutee, soon reached the river. Choosing for them 
a double canoe, the old chief saw them safely em- 
barked. Taking the paddles into their own hands, the 
midnight wayfarers descended the stream on their way 
towards the Block House, while, surrounded by a small 
group of his people, Sanutee watched their slow prog- 
ress from the banks. 


" And merrily, through the long summer day, 
The southern boatman winds his pliant horn, 
As sweeping with the long pole down his streams, 
• He cheers the lazy hours, and speeds them on." 

The fugitives reached the Block House in safety, 
and found the few hours of repose which they could 
snatch between the time of their midnight escape and 
daylight, highly grateful from the fatigues which they 
had undergone. The upper apartments were appro- 
priately divided between the commissioners and 
Granger, who, with his wife, instead of seeking sleep 
on their arrival, proceeded with all the usage of the 
trader, to attend, first, to the proper safety and arrange- 
ment of his stock in trade ; which, consisting of a 
few unsold goods, of a description adapted to the wants 


of that region, and some small bundles of furs, intrin- 
sically of little value, were yet to the selfish trades- 
man of paramount importance. 

It was early sunrise on the morning following the 
wild events narrated in our last chapter, when Gabriel 
Harrison, of whom we have seen little for some time 
past, appeared on the edge of the little brow of hill, 
known as the Chief's Bluff, which immediately over- 
looked the Pocota-ligo river. In the distance, some ten 
or twelve miles, unseen, lay the Indian village or town 
of the same name. Immediately before him, say one 
or two miles above, in the broadest part of the stream, 
rested motionless as the hill upon which he stood, the 
sharp clipper-built vessel, which has already called 
for some of our attention, and which at this moment 
seemed to attract no small portion of his. Sheltered 
by the branches of a single tree, which arose from 
the centre of the bluff, Harrison continued the scru- 
tiny, with here and there a soliloquizing remark, until 
interrupted by the presence of the commissioners, 
who, with Granger, now came towards him from the 
Block House. 

" Ha, Sir Edmund — gentlemen — how fares it, and 
when came you from Pocota-ligo V was the saluta- 
tion of Harrison to the deputation. 

" At midnight, my lord — at midnight, and in a hurry ; 
we had the nation upon us. There has been a com- 
motion, and by this time, I doubt not, the Yemassees 
have cut the throats of all the chiefs friendly to our 
proposed treaty." 

" Indeed, but this is worse and worse. I feared 
something, and warned the assembly against this 
movement. But their cursed desire to possess the lands 
must precipitate all the dangers I have been looking 
for. I told them that the Yemassees were discon- 
tented, and that the utmost care must be taken not to 
goad them too greatly. I saw this in the sullenness of 
old Sanutee himself, and they have given wings to the 
mischief by their imprudence. But how was it. Sit 
Edmund ?" let us have particulars 


The circumstances, as already narrated, were soon 
told, and the countenance of Harrison bespoke the 
full thoughts in his bosom. Turning to Granger, at 
length he addressed the trader inquiringly : 

"Can you say nothing more than this — what have 
you learned touching Ishiagaska ? Was it as I feared ? 
Had he been to St. Augustine V 

" He had, my lord, — " 

" Harrison — Harrison — Captain Harrison," impa- 
tiently exclaimed the person addressed — " forget not 
that here I have no other title. Go on." 

" Ishiagaska, sir, and old Choluculla, both of them 
have been to St. Augustine, and but a week ago returned, 
loaded with presents." 

" Ay, ay, the storm gathers, and we must look to it, 
gentlemen commissioners. This matter hurries it on- 
ward. They were making their preparations fast 
enough before, and they will now see no reason in this 
to pause. Yet you say that Sanutee saved you." 

" He did, and seemed friendly enough." 

" Said he aught of disapproval to their proceedings ? 
— made he any professions of regard to the English ?" 

" He said little, but that was friendly, and his inter- 
position for our safety — " 

" Was his policy. He is a cunning savage, but 1 
see through him. He does not wish to alarm us, for 
they can only conquer by disarming our caution ; and 
this is my greatest fear. Our people are so venturous 
that they refuse to believe any evidence short of actual 
demonstration, and every day finds them thrusting their 
heads and shoidders farther and farther into the mouth 
of the enemy, and without the chance of support from 
their friends. They will grow wise at a fearful price, 
or I am greatly deceived." 

" But what do you propose, my lord, if you look for 
an insurrection near at hand V asked Sir Edmund 

" I might answer you readily enough, Sir Edmund, 
by asking you wherefore I am here. But please 
style me Harrison, and if that be too abrupt in its 


expression, Master or Captain Gabriel Harrison. It 
is something of ray. game to see for myself the diffi- 
culties and the dangers at hand, and for this reason 1 
now play the spy. Here, I am perfectly unknown, 
save to one or two ; — except as the captain of a little 
troop, whose confidence I secured in the affair with 
your Coosaws and Ashepoos, and which I imbodied on 
that occasion. Still they only know me as Captain 
Harrison, and somehow or other, they are well enough 
content with me in that character." 

" And think you this insurrection nigh at hand?" 

" Nay, Sir Edmund, that is the question, and it is 
exceedingly important to know. Our borderers are 
not willing to come out, unless for serious cause, and 
to call them out prematurely would not only tax the 
colony beyond its resources, but would dismiss the 
present rulers of the people, with curses both loud and 
deep, to the unambitious retreats of home and fireside. 
They are turbulent enough now, and this matter of 
religion, which our lords proprietors in England, the 
bigoted old Granville in particular, seem so willing 
with all their usualtyranny to meddle with, has com- 
pletely maddened these same -people, in whose watery 
county of Granville we now stand." 

" And what do you propose to do ?" 

" Why, surely, to gain what information we can, 
before calling the people to arms. To make them 
cautious, is all that we can do now. The evidence 
which I have of this approaching insurrection, though 
enough for suspicion, will scarcely be considered 
enough for action ; and I must spy myself, and engage 
others in the work, so as to keep pace with their 
movements. They must be watched closely, — ay, 
and in every quarter, Sir Edmund, for let me tell you, 
that in your own barony of Ashepoo, they are quite 
as devilishly inclined as here. They are excited all 
around us." 

" But I have seen nothing of all this," was the reply 
of the landgrave. " The Ashepoos, what are left of 
them, seem quiet enough in my neighbourhood." 


" To be sure they are, in the presence of Sir 
Edmund Bellinger, the immediate authority of the 
English in their country. But did you strip yourself 
of your authority, as I have done, for I am just from 
that very quarter ; put on the dress, and some of the 
slashing and bilbo swagger of a drunken captain from 
the Low Countries, to whom a pot of sour ale was the 
supreme of felicity, they had shown you more of their 
true nature. Some of my evidence would amuse you. 
For example, I crossed the river last night to the 
house of Tamaita, an old squaw who tells fortunes 
in the very centre of Terrapin swamp, where she is 
surrounded by as damnable an assemblage of living 
alligators, as would have made happy all the necro- 
mancers of the past ages ; she told me my fortune, 
which she had ready at my hand ; and which, if true, 
will certainly make me a convert to her philosophy. 
But, with her predictions, she gave me a great deal of 
advice, probably with the view to their being more 
perfectly verified. Among other things, she promised 
me a great deal of lightning, a promise which you 
would naturally enough suppose, meant nothing more 
than one of our summer afternoon thunder storms, 
which, by the way, are terrible enough." 

" What else should she mean ?" 

" Her lightning signified the arrows of the Yemas- 
sees. In this way, they figure the rapidity and the 
danger attending the flight of their long shafts. The 
promise tallied well with the counsel of Sanutee, who 
advised me yesterday to be off in the big canoe." 

" Which advice you decline — you propose still to 
continue here, my lord — Captain Harrison, I mean," 
replied Sir Edmund* 

" Of God's surety, I will, Sir Edmund. Can I else 
now T I must watch this movement as well as I can, 
and make our people generally do so, or the tomahawk 
and fire will sweep them off in a single night. Apart 
from that, you know this sort of adventure is a pleasure 
to me, and there is a something of personal interest in 
some of my journeyings, which I delight to see ripen." 


Bellinger smiled, and Harrison continued with an air 
of the most perfect business. 

" But go on, gentlemen — the sooner, the better. 
Make the best of your way to Charlestown, but trust 
not to cross the land as you came. Keep from the 
woods, for the journey that way is a slow one, and if 
things turn out as I fear, they will swarm before long 
with enemies, even to the gates of Charlestown. Do 
me grace to place these despatches safely with their 
proper trusts. The assembly will read these in secret. 
This to the lieutenant-governor, who will act upon it 
immediately. Despatch now, gentlemen — »I have hired 
boat, which Granger will procure for you from Grim- 

The commissioners were soon provided, and took 
their departure at once for the city. Granger, after 
this, returned to the conference with Harrison at the 
Chief's Bluff, where the latter continued to linger. 

" Have you seen Hector?" asked the latter. 

" I have not, sir." 

" Indeed. Strange ! He had a charge from me 
yesterday to take the track of a sea-faring fellow, 
whom I encountered, and of whom I had suspicions — 
after that, he was to cross, and give you intelligence 
of my being here." 

" I have seen nothing of him." 

" The blockhead has plunged into trap then, I doubt 
hot. Confound him, for a dull beast. To be absent at 
this time, when I so much want him." 

While Harrison thus vented his anger and disquiet, 
Granger, suddenly recollecting that he was called 
to the afternoon before, by one in a boat, as he was 
proceeding rapidly to join the commissioners in Po- 
cota-ligo, though without knowing the voice or hear- 
ing it repeated, now related the circumstance, and 
at once satisfied the person he addressed of the cor- 
rectness of his apprehensions. 

" Ha — he is then in that sailor's clutches. But 
lie shall disgorge him. I'll not lose Hector, on any 
terms. He's the very prince of body servants, and 


loves me, I verily believe, as I do my mistress. He 
must not suffer. Look forth, Granger, you have sharp 
e y es _look forth, and say what you think of the 
craft, lying there at the Broad-bend." 

" I have watched her, sir, for the last hour, but can't 
say for certain what to think. It is easier to say what 
she is not, than what she is." 

" That will do— say what she is not, and I can read- 
ily satisfy myself as to what she is." 

" She has no colours— her paint's fresh, put on since 
she's been in these waters. She is not a Spaniard, 
sir, nor is she English, that's certain." 
" Well, what next, Sagacity ?" 

The trader paused a few moments, as if to think, 
then, with an assured manner, and without seeming 
to annex any great importance to the communication 
which he made, he dryly replied — 

" Why, sir, she's neither one thing , nor another m 
look, but a mixture of all. Now, when that's the case 
in the look of a vessel, it's a sign that the crew is a 
mixture, and that there is no one person regulating. 
It's left to them to please their taste in most things, 
and so that paint seems put on as if Dutch, and French, 
Spanish, and Portuguese, and English, all had some 
hand in it. There's yellow and black, red and green, 
and all colours, I make out, where no one nation would 
employ more than one or two of them." 
" Well, what do you infer from all that V 
" I think, sir, she's a pirate, or what's no better, a 
Spanish guarda-costa." . 

" The devil you do, and Hector is in her jaws. But 
what other reasons have you for this opinion I" 

"What is she doing here— having no intercourse 
with the people— keeping off from the landing— show- 
ing no colours, and yet armed to the teeth 1 If there 
be nothing wrong, sir, why this concealment and dis- 
tance ?" 

" You jump readily and with some reason to a con- 
clusion, Granger, and you may be right. Now hear 
my thought. That vessel comes from Saint Augustine, 
Vol. I. 11 


and brings arms to the Yemassees, and urges on this 
very insurrection of which you had a taste last night." 

" Very likely, and she may be a pirate too. They 
are thick about the coast." 

" Ay, Granger, as the contents of some of your 
packages might tell if they had tongues," said Harri- 
son, with a smil6. 

" God forbid, captain," exclaimed the trader, with a 
simple gravity, which rose into honest dignity as he 
continued — " I can show bills for all my goods, from 
worthy citizens in Charlestown and elsewhere." 

" No matter, I charge you not. But you may be 
right. To be a pirate and a Spaniard are not such 
distinct matters, and now I think with you, the proba- 
bility is, she is both. But what I mean to say, Gran- 
ger, is this — that now she comes here with no piratical 
intent, but to serve other and perhaps worse purposes 
— else, what keeps her from plundering the shore ?" 

" The best reason in the world, sir ; it's a long reach 
she must go through before she safely keels the sea. 
It's slow work to get from the bay of the Broad, and a 
wind takes its pleasure in coming to fill up a sail in this 
crooked water. Let them once do what they came for, 
and make the coast, then look out for the good mer- 
chantmen who find their way into the Gulf of Mexico." 

" Well, whether Spaniard or pirate, or Dutch Fly- 
away, we must get Hector out of her jaws, if it's only 
to keep him a gentleman. And — but stay, she drops 
a boat. Do you make out who comes in it ?" 

" Two men pull — " 

" Certain. Who again, Mercury V 

" A bluff, stout fellow, sits astern, wears a bluejacket, 

" A gold chain ?" 

" He does, sir, with thick-hanging shining buttons." 

" The same. That's Hercules." 

"Who, sir?" 

"Hercules or Ajax, I don't remember which. I 
gave him one or other, or both names yesterday, and 
shall probably find another for him to-day, for I must 
have Hector. He shapes for the shore — does he ?" 


" Yes, sir ; and, from his present course, he will 
make the Parson's landing." 

" Ha ! say you so, most worthy trader — we shall 
be at the meeting." — " Yes," muttered the speaker, 
rather to himself than to his companion — " we shall 
be at the meeting ! He must not look upon my pretty 
Bess without seeing the good fortune which the fates 
yield her, in the person of her lover. We shall be 
there, Granger ; and, not to be unprovided with the 
means for effecting the escape of Hector, let us call 
up some of our choice spirits — some of the Green 
Foresters — they know the signal of their captain, and, 
thanks to fortune, I left enough for the purpose at the 
smithy of Dick Grimstead. Come, man of wares and 
merchandises — be packing." 

Leading the way from the hill, Harrison, followed 
by Granger, descended to the level forest about a mile 
off, in the immediate rear of the Block House, and 
placing his hunting horn to his lips, he sounded it 
thrice with a deep clear note, which called up a dozen 
echoes from every dell in the surrounding woods. 
The sounds had scarcely ceased to reverberate, before 
they were replied to, in a long and mellow roll, from 
one, seemingly a perfect master of the instrument, who, 
even after the response had been given, poured forth a 
generous blast, followed by a warbling succession of 
cadences, melting away at last into a silence which 
the ear, having carefully treasured up the preceding 
notes, almost refused to acknowledge. From another 
point in the woods, a corresponding strain thrice re- 
peated, followed soon after the first, and announced an 
understanding among the parties, to which the instru- 
ment had been made ably subservient. 

" These are my Green Jackets, Granger; you have 
made money out of that colour, my Plutus — ^my own 
green jacket boys, true as steel, and swift as an Indian 
arrow. Come, bury deeper in the thick woods, where, 
in half an hour, you may see a dozen of the same 
colour- at the gathering." 



" J know thee, though the world's strife on thy brow 
Hath beaten strangely. Altered to the eye, 
Methinks I look upon the self-same man, 
With nature all unchanged." 

The boat from the unknown vessel reached the 
point jutting out into the river, in front of the dwelling 
of the old pastor ; and the seaman, already more than 
once introduced to our notice, leaving the two men in 
charge of it, took his way to the habitation in question. 
The old man received the stranger with all the hos- 
pitalities of the region, and ushered him into the 
presence of his family with due courtesy, though as a 
stranger. The seaman seemed evidently to constrain 
himself while surveying the features of the inmates, 
which he did with some curiosity; and had Harrison 
been present, he might have remarked, with some dis- 
satisfaction, the long, earnest, and admiring gaze 
which, in this survey, the beautiful features of Bess 
Matthews were made to undergo, to her own evident 
disquiet. After some little chat, with that bluff, free, 
hearty manner which is the happy characteristic of 
the seafaring man, the stranger contrived to remove 
much of the unfavourable impression which his gross 
and impudent cast of face had otherwise made, and in 
reply to the natural inquiry of the pastor to that effect, 
he gave a brief account of the nature of his pursuits 
in that quarter, — and though a close and scrutinizing 
minJ might have picked out no small number of flaws 
in jLe yarn which he spun, yet to the unsophisticated 
sense of the little family, the story was straight for- 
w ru and clear enough. The trade in furs and skins 
usually carried on with the Indians was well known 
to be exceedingly valuable in many of the European 


markets, and with this object the seaman accounted 
for his presence in a part of the world, not often 
honoured with the visit of a vessel of so much preten- 
sion as that which he commanded. From one thing to 
another, with a fluent, dashing sort of speech, he went 
on — now telling of his own, and now commenting 
on their adventures, and, bating an occasional oath, 
which invariably puckered up the features of the old 
Puritan, he contrived to make himself sufficiently 
agreeable, and after a very passable fashion. Bessy 
did not, it is true, incline the ear after the manner of 
Desdemona to her Blackamoor, but in the anecdote, 
hurried and rash, which every now and then enriched 
the rambling speech of their guest, either in the tale 
of his own, or of the achievement of others, she found 
much, in spite of herself, to enlist her curiosity and 
command her attention. Nor was he less influenced 
by her presence than she by his narrative. Though 
spoken generally, much of his conversation was 
seemingly addressed in especial to the maiden. With 
this object, he sprinkled his story full of the wonders 
of the West Indies, with all of which he appeared fa- 
miliar — spoke of its luscious fruits and balmy climates 
— its groves of lemon and of orange — its dark-eyed 
beauties, and innumerous productions of animate and 
vegetable life. Then of its gold and jewels, the ease 
of their attainment, and all that sort of thing, which 
the vulgar mind would be apt to suppose exceedinglj 
attractive and overcoming to the weak one. Having 
said enough as he thought, fairly and fully to dazzle 
the imagination of the girl — and secure now of a 
favourable estimate of himself, he drew from his 
bosom a little casket, containing a rich gold chain of 
Moorish filigree work, arabesque wrought, and prob- 
ably a spoil of Grenada, and pressed it on her accept- 
ance. His manner was so assured, that her refusal 
to do so called for the open expression of his astonish- 

'- And wherefore not — young- lady ? The chain is 
not unbecoming for the neck, though that be indeec 


the whitest. Now, the girls of Spain, with a skin 
nothing to be compared with yours, thty wear them 
thick as grape vines. Come, now — don't be shy and 
foolish. The chain is rich, and worth a deal of money. 
Let me lock it now. You will look like a queen in 
it — a queen of all the Indies could not look more so." 

Rut the sailor blundered grossly. Bess Matthews 
was a thinking, feeling woman, and he addressed her 
as a child. She had now recovered from the interest 
which she had shown while he narrated adventures 
that excited her imagination, and set her fancy in 
glow, conjuring up and putting into activity man}r of 
those imaged dreams which the young romancer has 
so ready at all times in thought — and she soon con- 
vinced him that he had greatly mistaken her, when he 
was so willing to transfer to himself the attention 
which she had simply yielded to his stories. He now 
almost shrunk at the gentle but lofty tone in which 
she reiterated her refusal to accept the proffered orna- 
ment. But the next moment with visible vexation, to 
the astonishment of the old pastor, he thus addressed 
him: — 

" Why, Matthews, you have made your daughter as 
great a saint as yourself. Ha ! I see you stagger. 
Didn't know me, eh ! Didn't remember your old parish 
acquaintance, Dick Chorley." 

The pastor looked at him with some interest, but 
with more seeming commiseration. 

" And are you little Richard ?" 

" Little, indeed — that's a good one. I was once 
little, and little enough, when you knew me, — but I am 
big enough now, John Matthews, to have myself 
righted when wrong is done me. It is not now, that 
the parish beadle can flog little Dick Chorley. Not 
now, by God ! — and it's been a sore sorrow with some 
of them, I think, that it ever was the case." 

" Well Richard, I'm glad to find you so much better 
off in the world, and with a better disposition to work 
for yourself honestly, than in old times," said the 


" Hark ye, Matthews — no more of that. That's as 
it may be. Perhaps I'm better — perhaps I'm not. It's 
none of your business either one way or the other ; 
and to look back too closely into old time doings, ain't 
a friend's part, I'm thinking. Blast me ! old man, but 
you had nearly made me forget myself ; and I wouldn't 
like to say rough things to you or any of yours, for 
I can't but remember you were always more kind to 
me than the rest, and if I had minded you I had done 
better. But what's done can't be undone, and the least 
said is soonest mended." 

" I meant not to speak harshly, Richard, when I 
spoke of the past," said the pastor, mildly, " but the 
exile finds it sweet to remember, even those things 
which were sorrows in his own land. I find it so with 
me ; and though to speak plainly, Richard, I would 
rather not see to know you as of old, yet the re- 
cognition of your person, for a moment, gave me a 
sentiment of pleasure." 

"And why should it not — and why should it not? 
Blast me, old man, but you don't think I'm the same 
ragged urchin that the parish fed and flogged — that 
broke his master's head, and was the laughing stock, 
and the scapegoat of every rascality in the shire 1 — no, 
no. The case is changed now, and if I'm no better, 
I'm at least an abler man ; and that stands for right 
and morality all the world over. I'm doing well in the 
world, Matthews — drive a good trade — own half in as 
handsome a clipper as ever swum like a gull in the 
blue waters of the gulf; and, if the world will let me, 
I shall probably in little time be as good — that is 
to say as rich a man — as any of them. If they won't, 
they must look out for themselves, that's all." 

"One thing pleases me, at least, Richard," said the 
pastor, gravely, "and that is to find your pursuits such 
that you need not be ashamed of them. This should 
give you an honest pride, as it certainly yields me 

There was rather more of inquiry than of remark 
:m this observation, and Chorley saw it. 


"Ay, ay, if it pleases you I'm satisfied. You are 
a good judge of what's right, and can say. For my 
part, I make it a rule to boast nothing of my virtue. 
It takes the polish off a good action, to turn it over too 
often in one's mouth." 

There was a satirical chuckle following the speech 
of the sailor which the pastor did not seem to relish. 
It seemed to sneer at the joint homilies which they 
had been uttering. The dialogue was changed by the 

" And where is your mother now, Richard ?" 

" Ask the parish church-yard — it has one grave 
more, that I can swear for, than when you left it ; and, 
though I'm bad at grammar, I could read the old wo- 
man's name upon the stick at the head. When she 
died I came off — I couldn't stand it then, though I 
stood it well enough before. They have not seen me 
since, nor I them — and there's no love lost between us. 
If I ever go back, it will be to see the old beadle and 
that grave stick." 

" I hope you harbour no malice, Richard, against the 
man for doing his duty ?" 

" His duty ?" 

" Yes, his duty. He was the officer of the law, and 
compelled to do what he did. Wherefore then would 
you go back to see him simply, and then, so strangely 
associated with your mother's grave V 

" Ha ! that's it. He broke her heart by his treat- 
ment to me, and I would break his scull upon her grave 
as a satisfaction to both of us. I did wrong when a boy, 
that's like enough, for older people did wrong daily about 
me, but was my public disgrace to cure me of my 
wrong 1 They put me in the stocks, then expected me 
to be a good citizen. Wise enough. I tell you what, 
Matthews, I've seen something more of the world than 
you, though you've seen more years than I; and mark 
my word, whenever a man becomes a bad man, a thief, 
an outlaw, or a murderer, his neighbours have tr thank 
themselves for three fourths of the teachings that have 
made him so. But this is enough on this talk. Let 


us say something now of yourself — and first, how do 
you like this part of the world ?" 

" As well as can be expected. I am indifferent to 
any other, and I have quiet here, which I had not al- 
ways in the turbulent changes of England. My family 
too are satisfied, and their contentment makes the 
greater part of mine." 

" You'd find it better and pleasanter in Florida. I 
drive a good business there with the Spaniard. I'm 
rather one myself now, and carry his flag, though I 
trade chiefly on my own log." 

The dialogue was here broken in upon by the en- 
trance of Harrison, who, in spite of the cold courtesies 
of the pastor, and the downcast reserve in the eyes of 
Bess Matthews, yet joined the little group with the 
composure of one perfectly satisfied of the most cordial 



" Thou shalt disgorge thy prey, give up thy spoil, 
And yield thee prisoner. The time is short, 
Make thy speech fitting." 

To the green wood with Harrison and the trader. 
We have heard the merry horn responding freely to 
that of the former. " You shall see them," said he to 
Granger — " brave fellows and true, and sufficient for my 
purpose. I can rely upon Grimstead, the smith, and 
his brother, certainly, for I left them but a couple of 
hours ago at the smithy. Theirs was the first answer 
we heard. I know not from whom comes the second, 
but I look for Wat Grayson from that quarter, and 
sure enough, he is here. Ha ! Grayson, you are true 
and in time, as usual. I give you welcome, for I want 
your arm." 

" And at your service, captain, to strike deer or ene- 


my, for fight or labour. Ha ! Granger — but you have- 
forgotten my knife, which I've sorely wanted." 

" It is here, at the Block House, ready for you." 

" Good ! Well captain, what's the service now 1 
I'm ready, you see, and glad that you feel able to count 
so free upon Wat Grayson." 

" You shall soon see, Grayson. I wait but for a 
few more of the boys, to tell you our work ; and in 
order not to waste more time, wind your horn, and let 
the men come freely." 

The horn was wound, and but a few seconds had 
elapsed when a distinct reply from two other quarters 
acknowledged the potent summons. In a few moments 
the sturdy blacksmith, Grimstead, followed by his 
younger brother, burst into the little area, which was 
the usual point of assemblage. A moment after, a 
bustling little body, known as Dr. Nichols, the only 
medical man in that region, also entered the ring, 
mounted upon the little ambling pony, or tacky, from 
the marsh — a sturdy little animal in much use, though 
of repute infinitely below its merits. 

" Ha ! doctor — our worthy Esculapius — how fares 
it ? You come in time, for we look to have some bones 
for your setting before long," exclaimed Harrison, ad- 
dressing him. 

" Captain Harrison," responded the little profes- 
sional, with a most imposing manner, " it gives me 
pleasure at any moment to do my countiy service. I 
am proud that my poor ability may be called into exer- 
cise, though I should rather have you invoke my per- 
sonal than professional offices." 

" We shall need both, doctor, most probably. We 
must first risk our bones before the surgeon may hope 
to handle them ; and in doing so, have no scruple that 
he should risk his along with ours." 

" And wherefore, may I ask, Captain Harrison ?" 

" Simply, doctor, that he may be taught a due les- 
son of sympathy by his own hurts, which shall make 
him tender of ours. But we are slow. Who have 
we here to count on for a brush V 


" Count on Dick Grimstead, captain, and you may 
put down Tom with him, but not as doctors. — I'm not 
for the doctoring, captain." 

" Irreverend fellow !" muttered Nichols. 

Harrison laughed, and proceeded to enumerate and 
arrange his men, who now, with himself and Granger, 
amounted to seven. He himself carried pistols, and 
the short German rifle already described. The rest 
had generally either the clumsy muskets of the time, 
or the tomahawk, an instrument almost as formidable, 
and certainly quite as necessary in the forests. Some 
of them were dressed in the uniform of the " green- 
jackets," the corps which had been raised by Harrison 
in the Coosaw war, and which he commanded. Though 
ignorant entirely of his character and pursuits, yet his 
successful heading of them in that sudden insurrection, 
at a moment of great emergency, not less than the free, 
affable, and forward manner which characterized him, 
had endeared him to them generally ; and, unlike the 
pastor, they were content with this amount of their 
knowledge of one whom they had learned not less to 
love than to obey. 

Harrison looked round upon his boys, as he called 
them, not heeding sundry efforts which Nichols made 
to command his attention. Suddenly addressing Gray- 
son, he asked — 

" Where's Murray ?" 

" Sick, captain — on the flat of his back, or I had 
brought him with me. He lies sick at Joe Gibbons' 
up by Bates', where he's been running up a new house 
for Gibbons." 

" He must come from that, Grayson. It is too far 
from the Block House for any of them, and for a sick 
man, it will be hopeless, if there should be war. He 
is not safe there, Grayson, you must move him." 

" That's impossible, captain. He can't move, he's 
down flat with the fever." 

" Then you must bring him off on your shoulders, or 
get a cart, for he is not safe where he is. I think so 
at least, for the Indians are at work, and we shall, be- 


fore very long, have the war-whoop ringing in our ears. 
We must clear the borders, or the Yemassees will do 
it for us." 

" And I'm ready, captain, as soon as they," exclaimed 
Grayson ; " and that's the notion of more than Wat 
Grayson. The boys, generally, long for something to 
do ; and, as we go up the river, the Indians get too mon- 
strous impudent to be borne with much longer." 

" True, Grayson— but we must wait their pleasure. 
I only give you my suspicions, and they amount to 
nothing so long as the Yemassees profess peace." 

" Oh, hang their professions, captain, say I. I don't 
see why we should wait on them to begin the brush, 
seeing it must be begun. There's nothing like a dash 
forward, when you see you have to go. That's my 
notion ; and, say but the word, we'll catch the weazel 
asleep when he thinks to catch us. All our boys are 
ready for it, and a ring of the horn round Alligatoi 
Swamp will bring a dozen ; and by night we could, 
have Dick Mason, and Spragg, and Baynton, who have 
gone up to the new clearing upon the fork of Tulijji- 

"It is well," said Harrison — "well that you should 
be ready, but it is for the assembly to make war and 
peace, — not for us. We can only provide for our de- 
fence in case of assault, and against it I want to pre- 
pare you, for I greatly apprehend it. But, in the mean- 
time, I have another job for execution." 

Nichols now finding a favourable moment, in his 
usual swelling manner, addressed Harrison and the 
company : — 

" Captain Harrison, understand me. I protest my 
willingness to volunteer in any matter for the good of 
the people. It is the part of the true patriot to die for 
the people, and I'm willing when the time comes. 
Prepare the block, unsheath the sword, and provide 
the executioner, — and I, Constantine Maximilian Nich- 
ols, medical doctor, well assured that in my death I 
shall save my country, will freely yield up my poor 
life, even as the noble Decius of old, for the securing 


of so great a blessing for my people. But, captain, it 
must be clear to my mind that the necessity is such, 
the end to be attained is of so great moment, and the 
means to be employed are warranted by the laws, in 
letter and in spirit. Speak therefore, captain, the de- 
sign before us. Let me hear your purpose — let my 
mind examine into its bearings and its tendencies, and 
I will then declare myself." 

Harrison, who knew the weak point of the speaker, 
with singular composure preserved his gravity, while 
the foresters laughed aloud. 

" Come with us, Constantine Maximilian — your own 
mind shall judge." 

He led the party to the Chief's Bluff, and from the 
eminence he pointed out to them at a little distance 
below, where lay the boat of the schooner, one of the 
seamen rambling upon the land at a little distance from 
it, while the other lay in its bottom. 

" Now, Constantine," said he, " behold those men. I 
want them secured, bound hand and foot, and kept un- 
til farther orders." 

" Show me, Captain Harrison, that the peace of the 
country, the lives of my fellow-countrymen, or the lib- 
erties of the people depend upon the measure, and I 
am ready to yield up my life in the attainment of your 
object. Until you do this, captain, I decline ; and 
must, furthermore, lift up my voice in adjuration to 
those about me, against acting as you counsel, doing 
this great wrong to the men whom you have singled 
out for bondage, depriving them of their liberties, and 
possibly their lives." 

" You are scrupulous, doctor, and we shall have to 
do without you. We shall certainly secure those two 
men, though we meditate nothing against the liberties 
of the people." 

" I shall warn them by my voice of your design 
upon them," was the dogged resolve of the doctor. 

" Of God's surety, if you dare, Nichols, I shall tum- 
ble you headlong from the bluff," sternly responded 
Harrison ; and the patriot, to whom the declamation was 
I. 12 


enough of glory, shrunk back, in little, behind the 
rest, with whom the leader found no difficulty. He 
proceeded, — 

" Those men must be secured — they are but two, 
and you are five. They are without arms, so that all 
you may look for in the affair, will be a black eye or 
bloody nose. This will trouble neither of you much, 
though less ready than Constantine Maximilian to die 
for the people. Tumble the dogs into the sand and 
rope them — but do them no more damage than is 
necessary for that." 

" Who are they, captain ?" asked Grayson. 

" Nay, I know not, but they come from that vessel, 
and what she is I know not. One thing is certain, 
however, and hence my proceeding : In that vessel 
they have safely put away my black fellow, Hector." 

" The devil they have — the kidnappers." 

" Ay have they, and unless I get him out, they will 
have him in the Cuba market, and heaven knows how 
many more beside him, in twenty days, and we have 
no vessel to contend with them. There is but one 
way to give them a taste of what they may expect. 
You secure these lads, and when you have done so, 
bring them to Parson Matthews, sound your horn, and 
I shall then do my share of the duty." 

Leaving them to the performance of this task, Har- 
rison went forward to the cottage of the pastor ; while, 
headed by Grayson, the whole party, Nichols not ex- 
cepted, went down the bluff, and came by a circuitous 
route upon the seamen. One of them slept in the boat 
and was secured without any difficulty. His opening 
eyes found himself closely grappled by a couple of sturdy 
woodsmen, and he did not even venture to cry aloud, 
warned as he had been against such a measure, by 
the judicious elevation of a tomahawk above his head. 
The other took to his heels on seeing the capture of 
his companion, but stood no manner of chance with 
the fleet-footed foresters. He was soon caught, and 
Constantine Maximilian Nichols was the most adroit 
of the party in bandaging up the arms of both. The 


truth is, the doctor was not content with one profes- 
sion only. He aimed at popular favour. His speeches 
were framed solely with that end, and he accordingly 
prated for ever, as is the familiar custom always among 
the cunning, about those rights of man for which he 
cared but little. He was not judicious in his declama- 
tion, however, — he professed quite too largely ; and, in 
addition to this misfortune, it grew into a faith among 
his neighbours, that, while his forms- of speech were 
full of bloodshed and sacrifice, the heart of the doctoi 
was benevolently indifferent to all the circumstances 
and the joys of strife. But the prisoners were now 
secured, and, under close guard, were marched agree- 
ably to arrangement, to the cottage of the pastor. 


" 'Tis the rash hand that rights on the wild sea, 
Or in the desert — violence is law, 
And reason, where the civil hand is weak — 
Our hope is in it now." 

The entrance of Harrison, alone, into the cottage of 
the pastor, put a stop to the dialogue which had been 
going on between himself and the seaman. The re- 
ception which the host gave the new comer, was 
simply and coldly courteous — that of his lady was 
more grateful, but still constrained, and Bess, she 
feared to look up at all, lest all eyes should see 
how much better her reception would have been. 
Harrison saw all this, but the behaviour of the pastor 
seemed to have no effect upon him. He rattled on in 
his usual manner, though with something of loftiness 
still, which appeared to intimate its character of con- 

" Mr. Matthews, it gives me pleasure to find you 
well — better, I think, than when I had the pleasure to 


see you last. You see, I tax your courtesies, though 
you could find no relatives of mine in Charlestown 
willing to extend you theirs. But the time will come, 
sir, and your next visit may be more fruitful. Ah ! 
Mrs. Matthews, growing young again, surely. Do you 
know I hold this climate to be the most delightful in the 
world, — a perfect seat of health and youth, in which 
the old Spaniard, John Ponce, of Leon, would certainly 
have come nigher the blessed fountain he sought, than 
he ever could have done in Florida. And you, Bess — 
Miss Matthews I mean — still sweet, charming as ever. 
Ah ! Mrs. Matthews, you are thrice fortunate — always 
blessed. Your years are all so many summers — for 
Providence leaves to your household, in all seasons, 
one flower that compensates for all the rest." 

And thus, half playful, half serious, Harrison sev- 
erally addressed all in the apartment, the sailor ex- 
cepted. That worthy looked on, and listened with no 
little astonishment. 

" D — d easy .to be sure," he half muttered to him- 
self. Harrison, without distinguishing the words, 
heard the sounds, and readily comprehending then 
tenour from the look which accompanied them, he 
turned as playfully to the speaker as he had done tc 
all the rest. 

" And you, my old Hercules — you here too ? — I left 
you in other company, when last we met, and am 
really not sorry that you got off without the long 
arrow of the Yemassee. Pray, how came you so 
fortunate ? Few men here would have killed the dog 
of an Indian, without looking for the loss of his 
scalp, and a broken head in requital. Give us your 
secret, Hercules." 

" Look ye* young one, my name, as I told you 
before, is not Hercules — " 

" Not Hercules, — indeed !- — then it must be Ajax — 
Ajax or Agamemnon. Well, you have your choice, 
for you look any of them so well, that one or other of 
these I must call you. I could not well understand 
you by any other." 


It seemed the policy of Harrison, or so he appeared 
to think, to provoke the person he addressed into 
something like precipitance, suspecting him, as he 
did, of a secret and unfriendly object ; and finding him 
a choleric and rash person, he aimed so to arouse his 
passion, as to disarm his caution and defeat his judg- 
ment ; but, though Chorley exhibited indignation 
enough, yet having his own object, and wishing at 
that time to appear as amiable as possible, in the pres- 
ence of those who knew him as a different character 
in childhood, he moderated duly his anger to his situa- 
tion and desires. Still, his reply was fierce enough, 
and much of it muttered in an under tone, heard only 
by the pastor and him he addressed. 

" Hark ye, sir, I don't know what you may be, and 
don't much care ; but blast my heart, if you don't mind 
your eyes, I'll take your ears off, and slit your tongue, 
or I'm no man. I won't suffer any man to speak to me 
in this manner." 

" You won't — and you'll take my ears off and slit 
my tongue. Why, Hercules, you're decidedly dan- 
gerous. But I shall not tax your services so far." 

" Shall have them, though, by G — d, whether you 
will or not. You are not two to one now, youngster, 
and shan't swing to-day at my cost, as you did yes- 

" Pshaw — don't put on your clouds and thunder 
now, old Jupiter — you look, for all the world, at this 
moment like a pirate, and must certainly frighten the 
ladies should they dare to look on you." 

Chorley started visibly, fierce yet agitated, while 
the close, dark, penetrating eye of Harrison was fixed 
sternly upon his own. Before he could recover in 
time for a reply in the same by-play manner — for the 
dialogue between the two had been carried on in under 
tone — Harrison went on, resuming that playfulness 
of speech and look from which he had in the last few 
remarks not a little departed. 

" Don't mean to offend, Hercules, far from it. But 
really, when I spoke, your face did wear a most 


Blifustier* expression, such an one as Black Beard 
himself might have put on while sacking a merchant 
man, and sending her crew on the plank." 

" My name, young man, as I told you before," began 
the sailor, with a look and tone of forbearance and 
meekness that greatly awakened .he sympathies of the 
pastor, to whom the playful persecution of Harrison 
had been any thing but grateful — " my name is — " 

But his tormentor interrupted him — 

" Is Jupiter Amnion, I know — give yourself nc 
manner of trouble, I beg you." 

" Master Harrison," said the pastor, gravely, " this is 
my guest, and so are you, and as such, permit me to say 
that mutual respect is due to my house and presence, 
if not to one another. The name of this gentleman 
is Chorley, Master Richard Chorley, whose parents I 
knew in England as well as himself." 

" Ha ! Chorley — you knew him in England — Master 
Chorley, your servant, — Hercules no longer. You will 
be pleased to forgive my merriment, which is scarce 
worth your cloud and thunder storm. Chorley, did you 
say — Chorley, a good name — the name of a trader 
upon the Spanish Islands. Said I right?" inquired 
the speaker, who appeared to muse somewhat abstract- 
edly over his recent accession of intelligence while 
addressing the seaman. The latter sulkily assented. 

" Your craft lies in the river, and you come for 
trade. You have goods, Master Chorley — fine stuffs 
for a lady's wear, and jewels — have you not jewels 
such as would not do discredit to a neck, white, soft 
— a glimpse, such as we sometimes have through these 
blessed skies, of a pure, glorious heaven smiling and 
wooing beyond them? Have you no such befitting 
gauds — no highly wrought gem and ornament — in the 
shape of cross and chain, which a sharp master of 
trade may have picked up, lying at watch snugly 
among the little Islands of the Gulf?" 

" And if I have?" sullenly lesponded the seaman. 

* Blifustier was one of the names conferred by the Dutch, by 
which the early bucaniers of America were known. 


"I will buy, Hercules — Master Chorley I should 
say — I would buy such a jewel — a rich chain, or the. 
■cross which the Spaniard worships. Wouldst thou 
wear such a chain of my gift, sweet Bess — it would 
fit, because so far below, thy neck in its richness. 
Wouldst take my purchase, Miss Matthews ?" He 
looked tenderly to her eyes as he spoke, and the 
seaman, watching their mutual glance, with a cu- 
riosity which became malignant, soon discovered their 
secret, if so it may be called. Before his daugh- 
ter could speak, the old pastor sternly answered for 
her in the negative. His feelings had grown more and 
more uncompromising and resentful at every word of 
the previous dialogue. In his eyes the cool compo- 
sure of Harrison was the superb of audacity, particu- 
larly as, in the previous interview, he thought he had 
said and done enough to discourage the pretensions of 
any suiter — and one so utterly unknown to him as the 
present. Not that there was not much in all that he 
knew of the person in question, to confound and dis- 
tract his judgment. In their intercourse, and in all 
known intercourse, he had always proved brave, sen- 
sible, and generous. He had taken the lead among 
the volunteers, a short time previous, in defeating a 
superior Spanish force and driving them in disgrace 
from a meditated attack on Port Royal Island and 
Edisto. For this service he had received from the 
men he had then commanded, an application for the per- 
manent continuance of his authority — an application 
neither declined nor accepted. They knew him, how- 
ever, only as Gabriel Harrison, a man singularly com- 
pounded of daring bravery, cool reflection, and good- 
humoured vivacity, and knowing this, they cared for 
little more information. The farther mystery, know- 
ing so much, was criminal in the eyes of the pastor, 
who had better reasons than the volunteers for desiring 
a greater share of confidence ; and though really, 
when he could calmly reflect on the subject, unin- 
fluenced by his prejudices of Puritanism, pleased with 
the individual, a sense of what he considered his duty 
compelled him to frown upon pretensions so perfectly 


vague yet so confidently urged as those of his visiter. 
The course of the dialogue just narrated contributed 
still more to disapprove Harrison in the old man's 

" My daughter wears no such idle vanities, Master 
Harrison," said he, " and least of all should she be 
expected to receive them from hands of which we 
know nothing.*' 

" Oh, ho !" exclaimed Chorley, now in his turn en- 
joying himself at the expense of his adversary — " Oh, 
ho — sits the wind in that quarter of your sail, young- 

" Well, Hercules, what do you laugh at 1 ' I will buy 
your chain, though the lady may or may not take it." 

" You buy no chain of me, I think," replied the 
other — " unless you buy this, which I would have 
placed myself, as a free gift, upon the neck of the 
young lady, before you came." 

" You place it upon Bessy's neck, — indeed. Why 
Bully-boy, what put that extravagant notion into your 
head ?" exclaimed Harrison scornfully aloud. 

"And why not, master; why not, I pray you?" in- 
quired the seaman, at the same time not seeking to 
suppress his pique. 

" Why not — indeed — but will you sell your chain I" 

" Ay, that will I, but at a price something beyond 
your mark. What will you give now ?" 

" Put like a trader — Granger himself could not have 
said it with more grace. I will give " at that mo- 
ment a distinct blast of the horn, reverberating through 
the hall, announced to Harrison the success and 
approach of his party. Fixing his eye upon the 
person he addressed, and turning full upon him, he 
replied — 

" I have the price at hand — a fitting price, and one 
that you seem already to have counted on. What say 
you then to my black fellow, Hector — he is a fine 
servant, and as you have already stowed him away 
safely in your hold, I suppose you will not hesitate to 
ask for him three hundred pieces in the Cuba mar- 
ket — something more than the value of your chain." 


The seaman looked not less astounded than did the 
castor and his family, at this unlooked-for charge. 

" Where, Master Harrison, did you say ?" inquired 

"In the hold of this worthy fur and amber trader's 
vessel — safe, locked up, and ready for the Spaniard." 

" It's a d d lie," exclaimed the ferocious sea- 
man, recovering from his momentary stupor. 

"Bah, Hercules — see you fool written in my face, 
that you suppose oaths go further with me than words ? 
You are young, my 'Hercules, very young, to think 
so," — then, as the accused person proceeded to swear 
and swagger, Harrison turned to the ladies who had 
been silent and astonished auditors — " Mrs. Matthews, 
and you Bess, — take your chambers, please you, for a 
while. This business may be unpleasant, and not 
suited to your presence." 

" But Captain Harrison — my son," said the old lady, 

" Gabriel, — dear Gabriel," murmured the young one. 

" No violence, gentlemen, — for heaven's sake, gen- 
tlemen," said the host. 

Harrison kissed his hands playfully to the mother 
and daughter, as, leading them to an inner door, he 
begged them to have no apprehension. 

*' There is no cause of fear — be not alarmed. Her- 
cules and myself would only determine the value of 
Hector, without unnecessary witnesses. Go now, and 
fear not." 

Having dismissed the ladies, Harrison turned imme- 
diately to Chorley, and putting his hand with the 
utmost deliberation upon his shoulder, thus addressed 
him — 

" Hark ye, Hercules, you can't have Hector for 
nothing. The fellow's in prime order — not old, and 
still active — besides he's the most trust-worthy slave I 
own, and loves me like a brother. It goes against me 
to part with him, but if you are determined to have 
him, you must give me an equivalent." 

The seaman, with many oaths, denied having him. 



« Spare your breath, man," said the other, impet- 
uously—" I know you have him. Your swearing 
makes none of your lies true, and you waste them on 
me. Give up Hector, then " 

" And what if I say no ?" fiercely replied the sea- 

" Then I keep Hercules !" was the response ci 

"We shall see that," exclaimed the kidnapper— and 
drawing his cutlass, he approached the door of the 
cottage, in the way of which Harrison stood calmly. 
As he approached, the latter drew forth a pistol from 
his bosom, coolly cocked and presented it with one 
hand, while with the other raising his horn to his lips 
he replied to the previous signal. In another moment 
the door was thrown open, and Granger, with two of the 
foresters, appeared, well armed, and destroying any 
thought of an equal struggle, which might originally 
have entered the mind of Chorley. The three new 
comers ranged themselves around the apartment, so 
as to encircle the seaman. 

"Captain Harrison," interposed the pastor— "this 

violence in my house " 

"I deeply regret, Mr. Matthews," was the reply 
" but it is here necessary." 

"It is taking the laws into your own hands, sir." 
"I know it, sir, and will answer to the laws for 
taking Hector from the unlawful hands of this kid- 
napper. Stand aside, sir, if you please, while we 
secure our prisoner. Well, Hercules, are you ready 
for terms now ?" 

Nothing daunted, Chorley held forth defiance, and 
with a fierce oath, lifting his cutlass, he resolutely en- 
deavoured to advance. But the extension of his arm 
for the employment of his weapon, with his enemies 
so near, was of itself a disadvantage. The sword had 
scarcely obtained a partial elevation, when the iron 
muscles of Dick Grimstead fixed the uplifted arm as 
firmly as if the vice of the worthy blacksmith had 
taken the grasp instead of his fingers. In anothei 


moment he was tumbled upon his back, aid spite of 
every effort at release, the huge frame of Grimstead 
maintained him in that humiliating position. 

" You see, Hercules — obstinacy won't aerve you 
here. I must have Hector, or I shall see the colour 
of every drop of blood in your body. I swear it, of 
God's surety. Listen, then — here are materials for 
writing. You are a commander — you shall forward 
despatches to your men for the delivery of my snow- 
ball. Hector I must have." 

" I will write nothing — my men are in the boat, — 
they will soon be upon you, and by all the devils, I will 
mark you for this." 

" Give up your hope, Bully-boy, — and be less obdu- 
rate. I have taken care to secure your men and boat, 
as comfortably as yourself. You shall see that I 
speak truth." Winding his horn as he spoke, the rest 
of the foresters appeared under the conduct of Nichols, 
who, strange to say, was now the most active conspira- 
tor seemingly of the party ; and with them the two 
seamen well secured by cords. Ushering his prison- 
ers forward, the worthy Constantine etc., seeing Har- 
rison about to speak, hastily interrupted him — 

" The great object of action, captain — the great 
object of human action — Mr. Matthews, I am your 
servant — the great object, Captain Harrison, of human 
action, as I have said before, is, or should be, the pur- 
suit of human happiness. The great aim of human 
study is properly to determine upon the true nature ot 
human action. Human reason being the only mode, 
in the exercise of which, we can possibly arrive at 
the various courses which human action is to take, it 
follows, in direct sequence, that the Supreme Arbiter 
in matters of moral, or I should rather say human pro- 
priety, is the universal reason — " 

" Quod erat demonstrandum," gravely interrupted 

" Your approval is grateful, Captain Harrison — very 
grateful, sir — but I beg that you will not interrupt me." 

Harrison bowed, and the doctor proceeded : — 


" Referring to just principles, and the true standard^ 
which, — Master Matthews this may be of moment to 
you, and I beg your particular attention — I hold to be 
human reason, — for the government, the wellbeing of 
human society, I have determined — being thereto in- 
duced simply by a consideration of the good of the 
people — to lead them forth, for the captivity of these 
evil-minded men, who, without the fear of God in their 
eyes, and instigated by the devil, have feloniously kid- 
napped and entrapped and are about to carry away one 
of the lawful subjects of our king, whom Fate pre- 
serve. — I say subject, for though it does not appear 
that black has ever been employed, as a colour dis- 
tinguishing the subjects of our master, the King of 
Great Britain, yet, as subject to his will, and the con- 
trol of his subjects, and more than all, as speaking in 
the proper form of the English language, a little inter- 
polated here and there, it may be, with a foreign 
coating or accent — which it may be well to recognise 
as legitimately forming a feature of the said language, 
which by all writers is held to be of a compound sub- 
stance, not unlike, morally speaking, the sort of rock, 
which the geologists designate as pudding-stone — 
pudding being a preparation oddly and heavily com- 
pounded — and to speak professionally, indigestibly com- 
pounded — I say, then, and I call you, our pastor, and 
you, Captain Harrison, and, I say, Richard Grimstead, 
albeit you are not of a craft or profession which I may 
venture to style liberal, you too may be a witness, — 
and you will all of you here assembled take upon you 
to witness for me, that in leading forth these brave 
men to the assault upon and captivity of these nefa- 
rious kidnappers, rescue or no rescue, at this moment 
my prisoners, that, from the iirst and immutable prin- 
ciples which I have laid down, I could have been 
governed only by a patriotic desire for the good of the 
people. For, as it is plain that the man who kid- 
naps a subject has clearly none of those moral re- 
straints which should keep him from kidnapping sub- 
jects, and as it is equally clear that subjects should 


not be liable to abduction or kidnapping, so does it 
follow, as a direct sequence, that the duty of the good 
citizen is to prevent such nefarious practices. I feai 
not now the investigation of the people, for having 
been governed in what I have done simply by a re- 
gard for their good and safety, I yield me to their judg- 
ment, satisfied of justice, yet not shrinking, in their 
cause, from the martyrdom which they sometimes 

The speaker paused, breathless, and looked round 
very complacently upon the assembly — the persons 
of which, his speech had variously affected. Some 
laughed, knowing the man ; but one or two looked pro- 
found, and of these, at a future day, he had secured the 
suffrages. Harrison suffered nothing of risibility to 
appear upon his features, composing the muscles of 
which, he turned to the patriot, — 

" Gravely and conclusively argued, doctor, and with 
propriety, for the responsibility was a weighty one of 
this bold measure, which your regard for popular free- 
dom has persuaded you to adopt. I did not myself 
think that so much could be said in favour of the 
proceeding; the benefits of which we shall now pro- 
ceed to reap. And now, Hercules," he continued, ad- 
dressing the still prostrate seaman, " you see the case 
is hopeless, and there is but one way of effecting your 
liberty. Write — here are the materials ; command 
that Hector be restored without stroke or strife, for of 
God's surety, every touch of the whip upon the back 
of my slave, shall call for a corresponding dozen upon 
your own. Your seamen shall bear the despatch, and 
they shall return with the negro. I shall place a watch, 
and if more than these leave the vessel, it will be 
a signal which shall sound your death-warrant, for 
that moment, of God's surety, shall you hang. Let 
him rise, Grimstead, but keep his sword, and toma- 
hawk him if he stir." 

Chorley saw that the case was hopeless on other 
terms, and wrote as he was required. Sullenly affix- 

Vol. I. 13 


ing the signature, he handed it fiercely to Harrison, 
who coolly read over its contents. 

" So your name is really not Hercules, after all," 
he spoke with his usual careless manner — "but Chor- 

" Is it enough ?" sullenly asked the seaman. 

" Ay, Bully -boy, if your men obey it. I shall only 
take the liberty of putting a small addition to the 
paper, apprizing them of the prospect in reserve for 
yourself, if they steer awkwardly. A little hint to 
them," speaking as he wrote, " of new arms for their 
captain — swinging bough, rope pendant, — and so forth." 

In an hour and the men returned, bringing the bone 
of contention, the now half frantic Hector, along with 
them- Chorley was instantly released, and swearing 
vengeance for the indignity which he had suffered, 
immediately took his way to the vessel, followed by 
his men- Unarmed, he could do nothing with the 
stronger force of Harrison, but his fierce spirit only 
determined upon a reckoning doubly terrible from the 
present restraint upon it. 

" Keep cool, Hercules ; this attempt to kidnap our 
slaves will tell hardly against you when going round 
Port Royal Island. The battery there may make 
your passage uncomfortable." 

" You shall suffer for this, young one, or my name's 
not " 

" Hercules ! well, well — see that you keep a close 
reckoning, for I am not so sure that Richard Chorley 
is not as great a sea-shark as Steed Bonnett himself." 

The seaman started fiercely, as the speaker thus 
compared him with one of the most notorious pirates 
of the time and region, but a sense of caution re- 
strained him from any more decided expression of his 
anger. With a word of parting to the pastor, and a 
sullen repetition of a general threat to the rest, he 
was soon in his boat and upon the way to his vessel. 



" Have the keen eye awake — sleep not, but hold 
A perilous watch to-night. There is an hour 
Shall come, will try the stoutest of ye all." 

"I. say it again, Captain Harrison — fortunate is it 
for mankind, fortunate and thrice happy — Mr. Matthews 
you will be pleased to respond to the sentiment — thrice 
fortunate, I say, is it for mankind — Richard Grimstead, 
this idea is one highly important to your class, and you 
will give it every attention — thrice fortunate for man- 
kind that there are some spirits in the world, some 
noble spirits, whom no fear, no danger, not even the 
dread of death, can discourage or deter in theii labours 
for the good of the people. Who nobly array them- 
selves against injustice, who lift up the banners of 
truth, and, filled to overflowing with the love of their 
fellows, who yield up nothing of man's right to exac- 
tion and tyranny, but, shouting their defiance to the 
last, fear not to embrace the stake of martyrdom in the 
perpetuation of an immortal principle. Yes, captain — 
what, — will you not hear ?— -Mr. Matthews, venerable 
sir — Master Grayson, Master Walter Grayson, I say — 
and you, Richard Grimstead — will nobody hear ? — thus 
it is, — the blind and insensible mass ! — they take the 
safety and the service, but forget the benefactor. It is 
enough to make the patriot renounce his nature, and 
leave them to their fate." 

" You had better go now, doctor, and see poor Mur- 
ray, instead of standing here making speeches about 
nothing. Talk of the good of the people, indeed, and 
leave the sick man without physic till this time of day." 

" You are right in that, Master Grayson, though 
scarcely respectful. It concerns the popular welfare, 
certainly, that men should not fall victims to disease ; 


but you must understand, Master Grayson, that even 
to this broad and general principle, there are some ob- 
vious exceptions. One may and must, now and then, 
be sacrificed for the good of many — though to confess 
a truth, this can scarcely be an admitted principle, if 
such a sacrifice may tend in any way to affect the par- 
amount question of the soul's immortal peace or pain. 
I have strong doubts whether a man should be hung at 
all. For, if it happen that he be a bad man, to hang 
him is to precipitate him into that awful abiding place, 
to which each successive generation has contributed a 
new assortment of dooms and demons ; and if he should 
have seen the error of his ways, and repented, he 
ceases to be a bad man, and should not be hung at all. 
But, poor Murray, as you remind me, ought to be 
physicked — these cursed fevers hang on a man, as that 
sooty-lipped fellow Grimstead says, in a speech, un- 
couth as himself, like ' death to a dead negro.' The 
only God to be worshipped in this region, take my 
word for it, Master Grayson, is that heathen god, Mer- 
cury. He is the true friend of the people, and as such 
I worship him. Captain Harrison — the man is deaf. — 
Ah, Mr. Matthews — deaf, too ! Farewell, Master 
Grayson, or do you ride towards Gibbons' ? He turns 
a deaf ear also. Human nature — human nature ! I 
do hate to ride by myself." 

And with these words, in obvious dissatisfaction — for 
Doctor Constantine Maximilian Nichols stood alone — 
he left the house and moved off to the wood where his 
little tacky stood in waiting. By this time the forest- 
ers generally had also left the old pastor's cottage. 
Giving them instructions to meet him at the Block 
House, Harrison alone lingered behind with the sld 
Puritan, to whom the preceding events had somehow 
or other been productive of much sore disquietude. 
He had shown his disapprobation at various stages of 
their occurrence ; and even now, when the restoration 
of Hector, more than ever, showed the propriety, or 
policy at least, of the course which had been pursued, 
the old man seemed still to maintain a decided hos 


tility to the steps which Harrison had taken for the 
recovery of his property. Having once determined 
against the individual himself, the pastor was one of 
those dogged and self-satisfied persons who can never 
bring themselves to the dismissal of a prejudice ; who 
never permit themselves to approve of any thing done 
by the obnoxious person, and who studiously seek, in 
reference to him, every possible occasion for discon- 
tent and censure. In such a mood he addressed Har- 
rison when the rest had departed : — 

" This violence, Master Harrison," said he, " might 
do in a condition of war and civil commotion ; but while 
there are laws for the protection of the people and for 
the punishment of the aggressor, the resort to measures 
like that which I have this day witnessed, I hold to be 
highly indecorous and criminal." 

" Mr. Matthews, you talk of laws, as if that pirate 
fellow could be brought to justice by a sheriff." 
" And why should he not, Master Harrison ?" 
". My good sir, for the very best reason in the world, 
if you will but open your eyes, and take off some few 
of the scales which you delight to wear. Because, 
in that vessel, carrying guns and men enough to serve 
them, he could safely bid defiance to all the sheriffs 
you could muster. Let the wind but serve, and he 
could be off, carrying you along with him if he so 
thought proper, and at this moment nothing we could 
do could stop him. There is no defending Port Royal, 
and that is its misfortune. You must always call the 
force from Charlestown which could do so, and at this 
time there is not a single armed vessel in that port. 
No sir — nothing but maneuvering now for that fellow, 
and we must manage still more adroitly before we get 
our own terms out of him." 

" Why sir — where's the battery at Port Royal ?•'•' 
" Pshaw, Mr. Matthews — a mere fly in the face of 
he wind. The battery at Port Royal, indeed, which 
the Spaniards have twice already taken at noonday, 
and which they would have tumbled into nothing, but 
for Captain Godfrey and myself, as you should remem- 


ber, for your own chance and that of your family were 
narrow enough. A good wind, sir, would carry this 
Blifustier beyond the fort before three guns could be 
brought to bear upon her." 

"Well, Master Harrison, even if this be the case, I 
should rather the guilty should escape than that self- 
constituted judges should take into their own hands the 
administration of justice and the law." 

" Indeed, Master Pastor, but you are too merciful by 
half; and Hector, if he heard you now, would have 
few thanks for a charity, which would pack him off to 
the Cuba plantations for the benefit of your bully-boy 
acquaintance. No, no. I shall always hold and re- 
cover my property by the strong arm, when other 
means are wanting." 

" And pray, sir, what security have the people, that 
you, unknown to them as you are, may not employ the 
same arm to do them injustice, while proposing justice 
for yourself?" 

" That is what Nichols would call the popular argu- 
ment, and for which he would give you thanks, while 
using it against you. But, in truth, this is the coil, 
and amounts to neither more nor less than this, that all 
power is subject to abuse. I do not contend for the 
regular practice of that which I only employ in a last 
necessity. But, of this enough, — I am in no mood for 
hair splitting and arguing about trifling irregularities, 
when the chance is that there are far more seriou' 
difficulties before us. Hear me, then, Mr. Matthew: 
on a subject more important to yourself. You are 
here, residing on the borders of a savage nation, with 
an interest scarcely worth your consideration, and cer- 
tainly no engrossing object. Your purpose is the good 
of those around you, and with that object you suffer 
privations here, to which your family are not much 
accustomed. I have an interest in your welfare, 

The lips of the pastor curled contemptuously into a 
smile. Harrison proceeded : 

" I understand that expression, sir ; and, contenting 


myself with referring you for a commentary upon it to 
the sacred profession of your pursuit, I freely forgive 
it." The pastor's cheek grew crimson, while the 
other continued : — 

" You are here, sir, as I have said, upon the Indian 
borders. There is little real affinity between you. 
The entire white population thus situated, and stretch- 
ing for thirty miles towards the coast in this direction, 
does not exceed nine hundred, men, women, and chil- 
dren. You live remotely from each other — there is 
but little concert between you, and, bating an occa- 
sional musket, or sword, the hatchet and the knife are 
the only weapons which your houses generally furnish. 
The Indians are fretful and becoming insolent — " 

" Let me interrupt you, Master Harrison. I believe 
not that ; and so far as my experience goes, the Ye- 
massees were never more peaceable than at this mo- 

" Pardon me, sir, if I say, you know little of the In- 
dians, and are quite too guileless yourself to compre- 
hend the least portion of their deceitful character. 
Are you aware, sir, of the insurrection which took 
place in Pocota-ligo last night?" 

" I am not — what insurrection ?" 

"The chiefs, deposed by the people, and by this 
time probably destroyed for selling their lands yester- 
day to the commissioners." 

" Ah ! I could have said the why and the where- 
fore, without your speech. This but proves, Captain 
Harrison, that we may, if we please, provoke them by 
our persecutions into insurrections. Why do we thus 
seek to rob them of their lands — when, oh ! Father of 
mercies, when shall there be but one flock of all 
classes and colours, all tribes and nations, of thy peo* 
pie, and thy blessed Son, our Saviour, the good and 
guiding shepherd thereof?" 

" The prayer is a just one, and the blessing desira- 
ble ; but, while I concur with your sentiment, I am not 
willing to agree with you that our desire to procure 
their lands is at all inconsistent with the prayer. Un- 


til they shall adopt our pursuits, or we theirs, we can 
never form the one community for which your prayer 
is sent up ; and so long as the hunting lands are abun- 
dant, the seductions of that mode of life will always 
baffle the approach of civilization among the Indians. 
But this is not the matter between us now. Your 
smile of contempt, just now, when I spoke of my re- 
gard for your family, does not discourage me from re- 
peating the profession. I esteem your family, and a 
yet stronger sentiment attaches me to one of its mem- 
bers. Feeling thus towards you and it, and convinced, 
as I am, that there is danger at hand from the Indians, 
I entreat that you will remove at once into a close 
neighbourhood with our people. Go to Port Royal, 
where the means of escape are greater to Charles- 
town, — or, why not go to Charlestown itself?" 

" And see your family," coolly spoke the pastor. 

" It will be yours before long, and you will probably 
then know them," said the other with equal coolness. 
" But let not this matter affect the conviction in your 
mind, which is strong in mine. There is a near dan- 
ger to be apprehended from the Indians." 

"I apprehend none, Captain Harrison. The In- 
dians have always borne themselves peaceably towards 
me and towards all the settlers — towards all who have 
carried them the words of peace. To me they have 
been more. They have listened patiently to my teach- 
ings, and the eyes of some of them, under the blessed in- 
fluence of the Saviour, have been opened to the light." 

" Be not deceived, Mr. Matthews. The Indian up- 
on whom you would most rely, would be the very first 
to carry your scalp as a choice trimming for his moc- 
quasin. Be advised, sir — I know more of this people 
than yourself. I know what they are when excited 
and aroused — deception with them is the legitimate 
morality of a true warrior. Nor will they, when once 
at war, discriminate between the good neighbour, like 
yourself, and the wild borderer who encroaches upon 
their hunting grounds and carries off their spoil." 

" I fear not, sir — I know all the chiefs, and feel just 


as secure here, guarded by the watchful Providence, 
as I possibly could do, in the crowded city, fenced in 
by mightiest walls." 

" This confidence is rashness, sir, since it rejects a 
precaution which can do no harm, and offers but little 
inconvenience. Where is the necessity for your re- 
maining here, where there are so little to attract, and 
so few ties to bind ? Leave the spot, sir, at least until 
the storm is over-blown which I now see impending." 

" You are prophetic, Master Harrison, but as I see 
no storm impending, you will suffer me to remain. 
You seem also to forget that in remaining in this re- 
gion, which you say has few ties for me and mine, I 
am complying with a solemn duty, undertaken in coo* 
deliberation, and which I would not, if I could, avoid. 
I am here, as you know, the agent of a noble Christian 
charity of England, as a missionary to the heathen." 

" And nothing inconsistent with your duty to leave 
the spot for a season, in which, in the event of a war, 
you could pursue no such mission. Leave it for a 
season, only." 

" Master Harrison, once for all, permit me to choose 
for myself, not only where to live, but who shall be 
my adviser and companion. I owe you thanks for 
your professed interest in me and mine ; but it seems 
to me there is but little delicacy in thus giving us your 
presence, when my thoughts on the subject of my daugh- 
ter and your claim, have been so clearly expressed. 
The violence of your course to-day, sir, let me add, is 
enough to strengthen my previous determination on 
that subject." 

"Your determination, Mr. Matthews, seems fixed, 
indeed, to be wrong-headed and obstinate. You have 
dwelt greatly upon my violence to this sea-bear ; yet, 
or -I greatly mistake my man, you will come to wish it 
had been greater. But ask your own good sense 
whether that violence exceeded in degree the amount 
necessary to secure the restoration of my slave ? I 
did only what I thought essential to that end, though 
something provoked to more. But this aside — if you 


will not hear counsel, and determine to remain in this 
place, at least let me implore you to observe every 
precaution, and be ready to resort to the Block House 
with the first alarm. Be ready in your defence, and 
keep a careful watch. Let your nightbolts be well 
shot. I too, sir, will be something watchful for you. 
I cannot think of letting you sacrifice, by your ill- 
judged obstinacy, one, dear enough to me, at least, to 
make me bear with the discourtesies which come with 
such an ill grace from her sire." 

Thus speaking, Harrison left the cottage abruptly, 
leaving the old gentleman, standing, somewhat dis- 
satisfied with his own conduct, in the middle of the 


" Thou killest me with a word when thou dost say 
She loves him. Better thou hadst slain me first ; 
Thou hadst not half so wrong'd me then as now, 
For now, J live to perish." 

Hector met his master at the door of the cottage 
with tidings from the daughter which somewhat com- 
pensated for the harsh treatment of the father. She 
had consented to their meeting that afternoon in the 
old grove of oaks, well known even to this day in that 
neighbourhood, for its depth and beauty of shadow, and 
its sweet fitness for all the purposes of love. Some- 
what more satisfied, therefore, he took his way to the 
Block House, where the foresters awaited him. . 

They met in consultation, and the duties before 
Harrison were manifold. He told the party around 
him all that it was necessary they should know, in 
order to ensure proper precautions ; and having per- 
suaded them of the necessity of this labour, he found 
no difficulty in procuring their aid in putting the Block 


House mbetter trim for the reception of the enemy. To 
do this, they went over the fabric together. The pickets 
forming an area or yard on two of its sides, having been 
made of the resinous pine of the country, were generally 
in good preservation. The gate securing the entrance 
was gone, however, and called for immediate attention. 
The door of the Block House itself- — for it had but 
one — had also been taken away, and the necessity was 
equally great of its restoration. The lower story of 
the fortress consisted of but a single apartment, in 
which no repairs were needed. The upper story was 
divided into two rooms, and reached by a ladder — a 
single ladder serving both divisions, and transferable 
to each place of access when their ascent was de- 
sirable. One of these apartments, built more securely 
than the other, and pierced with a single small window, 
had been meant as the retreat of the women and chil- 
dren, and was now in the possession of Granger, the 
trader, and his wife. His small stock in trade, his 
furs, blankets, knives, beads, hatchets, etc., were 
strewn confusedly over the clapboard floor. These 
were the articles most wanted by the Indians. Fire- 
arms it had been the policy of the English to keep 
from them as much as possible. Still, the intercourse 
between them had been such that this desire was not 
always practicable. Many of their principal persons 
had contrived to procure them, either from the English 
tradesmen themselves, or from the Spaniards of St. 
Augustine, with whom of late the Yemassees had 
grown exceedingly intimate ; and though, from their 
infrequent use, not perfectly masters of the weapon, 
they were still sufficiently familiar with it to in- 
crease the odds already in their favour on the score 
of numbers. Apart from this, the musket is but little 
if any thing superior to the bow and arrow in the 
American forests. It inspires with more terror, and is 
therefore more useful ; but it is not a whit more fatal. 
Once discharged, the musket is of little avail. The 
Indian then rushes forward, and the bayonet becomes 
innocuous, for the striking and sure distance for 


the tomahawk in his hands is beyond the reach of its 
thrust. The tomahawk, with little practice, in any 
hand, can inflict a severe if not a fatal wound at twelve 
paces, and beyond ordinary pistol certainty. As long 
as his quiver lasts — say twelve or fifteen arrows — 
the bow in the close woods is superior to the musket 
in the grasp of an Indian, requiring only the little time 
necessary after the discharge of one, in fixing another 
arrow upon the elastic sinew. The musket too, in the 
hands of the Englishman, and according to his practice, 
is a sightless weapon. He fires in lin«, and without 
aim. The Anglo-American, therefore, has generally 
adopted the rifle. The eye of the Indian regulates 
every shaft from his bow with a rapidity given him by 
repeated and hourly practice from his childhood, and 
he learns to take the same aim at his enemy which he 
would take at the smallest bird among his forests. 
But to return. 

Harrison, with Grimstead, the smith, Grayson, 
Granger, and the rest, looked carefully to all the defen- 
ces of the fortress, employing them generally in the 
repairs considered necessary, nor withholding his own 
efforts in restoring the broken timber or the maimed 
shutter. The tools of the carpenter were as familiar 
as the weapon of warfare to the hand of the American 
woodsman, and the aid of the smith soon put things in 
train for a stout defence of the fabric, in the event of 
any necessity. This having been done, the whole 
party assembled in Granger's apartment to partake of 
the frugal meal which the hands of the trader's wife 
had prepared for them. We have seen the bold step 
taken by this woman in delivering up to the Yemas- 
sees the treaty which conveyed their lands to the 
Carolinians, by which, though she had risked the dis- 
pleasure of Sir Edmund Bellinger, whom the point 
of honour would have rendered obstinate, she had 
certainly saved the lives of the party. She was a 
tall, masculine, and well-made woman ; of a san- 
guine complexion, with deeply sunken, dark eyes, 
hair black as a coal and cut short like that of a man. 


There was a stern something in her glance which re- 
pelled ; and though gentle and even humble in her 
usual speech, there were moments when her tone was 
that of reckless defiance, and when her manner was 
any thing but conciliatory. Her look was always grave, 
even sombre, and no one saw her smile. She thus 
preserved her own and commanded the respect of 
others, in a sphere of life to which respect, or in very 
moderate degree, is not often conceded ; and though 
now she did not sit at the board upon which the hum- 
ble meal had been placed, her presence restrained 
the idle remark which the wild life of most of those 
assembled around it, would be well apt to instigate and 
occasion. At dinner Hector was examined as to his 
detention on board of the schooner. He told the 
story of his capture as already given, and though 
the poor fellow had in reality heard nothing, or very 
little, of the conversation between the sailor and the 
Indians, yet the clear narrative which he gave, descrip- 
tive of the free intercourse between the parties, and 
the presence of the belt of wampum, were proofs strong 
as holy writ, conclusive to the mind of Harrison of 
the suspicion he had already entertained. 

" And what of the schooner — what did you see 
there, Hector ?" 

" Gun, mosser — big gun, little gun — long sword 
little sword, and hatchets plenty for Injins." 

" What sort of men ?" 

" Ebery sort, mosser, English, Dutch, French, 
Spanish, — ugly little men Avid big whiskers, and long 
black hair, and face nebber see water." 

This was information enough, and with some further 
deliberation the parties separated, each in the perform- 
ance of some duty which by previous arrangement had 
been assigned him. An hour after the separation, and 
Walter Grayson arrived at the landing upon the river, 
a few hundred yards from the cottage where he lived, 
in time to see his brother, who was just about to put 
off with several bundles of skins in a small boat towards 
the vessel of the supposed Indian trader. The manner 
I. 14 


of the latter was cold, and his tone rather stern ant. 

" I have waited for you some hours, Walter Grayson, 
said he, standing upon the banks, and throwing a bundles 
into the bottom of the boat. 

" I could come no sooner, Hugh ; I have been busy 
in assisting the captain." 

" The captain — will you never be a freeman, Wal* 
ter — will you always be a water-carrier for a mas- 
ter? Why do you seek and serve this swaggerer, as 
if you had lost every jot of manly independence ?" 

" Not so fast, Hugh, — and my very good younger 
brother — not so fast. I have not served him, more than 
I have served you and all of us, by what I have done this 
morning." — He then went on to tell his brother of the 
occurrences of the day. The other seemed much as- 
tonished, and there was something of chagrin manifest 
in his astonishment — so much so indeed, that Walter 
could not help asking him if he regretted that Har- 
rison should get his own again. 

" No — not so, brother, — but the truth is, I was about 
to take my skins to this same trader for sale and bar- 
ter, and my purpose is something staggered by your 

" Well, I don't know but it should stagger you ; and 
I certainly shouldn't advise you, for the man who 
comes to smuggle and kidnap will scarcely heed 
smaller matters of trade." 

" I must go — I want every thing, even powder and 

" Well, that's a good want with you, Hugh, for if 
you had none, you'd be better willing to work at home." 

"I will not go into the field," — said the other, haugh- 
tily and impatiently. " It will do for you, to take the 
mule's labour, who are so willing to be at the beck and 
call of every swaggering upstart, but I will not. No J 
Let me rather go with the Indians, and take up with 
them, and dress in their skins, and disfigure myself 
with their savage paint ; but I will neither dig nor hew 
when I can do otherwise." 


" Ay, when you can do otherwise, Hugh Grayson 
— I am willing. But do not deceive yourself, young 
brother of mine. I know, if you do not, why th* 
labours of the field, which I must go through with, are 
your dislike. I know why you will rather drive the 
woods, day after day, in the Indian fashion, along with 
Chiparee or Occonestoga and with no better company, 
for now and then a buck or doe, in preference to more 
regular employment and a more certain subsistence " 

" And why is it then, Walter — let me have the benefit 
of your knowledge." 

" Ay, I know and so do you, Hugh, and shame, I 
say, on the false pride which regards the toil of your 
own father, and the labours of your own brother, as 
degrading. Ay, you blush, and well you may, Hugh 
Grayson. It is the truth — a truth I have never spoken 
in your ears before, and should not have spoken now 
but for the freedom and frequency with which you, my 
younger brother, and for whom I have toiled when he 
could not toil for himself, presume to speak of my con- 
duct as slavish. Now examine your own, and know 
that as I am independent, I am not slavish — you can 
tell for yourself whether you owe as little to me, as I 
to you and to all other persons. When you have an- 
swered this question, Hugh, you can find a better ap- 
plication than you have yet made of that same word 
' slave.' " 

The cheek of the hearer grew pale and crimson, 
alternately, at the reproach of the speaker, whose eye 
watched him with not a little of that sternness of 
glance, which heretofore had filled his own. At one 
moment, the collected fury of his look seemed to 
threaten violence, but, as if consideration came oppor- 
tunely, he turned aside, and after a few moments' pause, 
replied in a thick, broken tone of voice : — 

" You have said well, my elder brother and my 
better. Your reproach is just — I am a dependant — a 
beggar — one who should acknowledge, if he has not 
craved for, charity. I say it — and I feel it, and the 
sooner I requite the obligation the better I will go to 


this trader, and sell my skins if I can, kidnapper or 
pirate though he be. I will go to him, and beg him to 
buy, which I might not have done but for your speech. 
You have said harshly, Walter Grayson, very harshly, 
but truly, and — I thank you, I thank you, believe me — 
I thank you for the lesson." 

As he moved away, the elder brother turned quick 
upon him, and with an ebullition of feeling which did 
not impair his manliness, he grappled his hand — 

" Hugh, boy, I was harsh and foolish, but you 
wrought me to it. I love you, brother — love you as if 
you were my own son, and do not repent me of any 
thing I have done for you, which, were it to be done 
over again, I should rejoice to do. But when you 
speak in such harsh language of men whom you know 
I love, you provoke me, particularly when I see and 
know that you do them injustice. Now, Captain Har- 
rison, let me tell you " 

" I would not hear, Walter — nothing, I pray you, of 
that man !" 

" And why not ? — Ah, Hughey, put down this bad 
spirit — this impatient spirit, which will not let you 
sleep ; for even in your sleep it speaks out, and I have 
heard it." 

"Ha!" and the other started, and laid his hand on 
the arm of his brother — " thou hast heard what ?" 

" What I will not say — not even to you, but enough, 
Hugh, to satisfy me, that your dislike to Harrison 
springs from an unbecoming feeling." 

" Name it." 

" Jealousy ! — I have already hinted as much, and 
now I tell you that your love for Bess Matthews, and 
her love for him, are the cause of your hate to Har- 
rison." ■» • 

" You mean not to say she loves him." 

" I do, Hugh — honestly I believe it." 

And as the elder brother replied, the other dashed 
down his hand, which, on putting the question, he had 
taken, and rushed off, with a feeling of desperation, to 
the boat. In a moment, seated centrally within it, he 


had left the banks ; and the little flap oar was plied from 
hand to hand with a rapidity and vigour more than 
half derived from the violent boiling of the feverish 
blood within his veins. With a glance of sympathy 
and of genuine feeling, Walter Grayson surveyed his 
progress for a while, then turned away to the cottage 
and to other occupations. 

In a little while, the younger brother, with his small 
cargo, approached the vessel, and was instantly hailed 
by a gruff" voice from within. 

f Throw me a rope," was the cry of Grayson. 

" For what. — what the devil should make us throw 
you a rope — who are you — what do you want?" was 
the reply. The speaker, who was no other than our 
old acquaintance Chorley, appearing at the same 
moment, and looking down at the visiter. 

" You buy furs and skins, captain — I have both, and 
here is a bag of amber, fresh gathered, and the drops 
are large.* I want powder for them, and shot — some 
knives and hatchets." 

" You get none from me, blast me." 

" What, wherefore are you here, if not for trade ?" 
was the involuntary question of Grayson. The sea- 
man, still desirous of preserving appearances as much 
as possible, found it necessary to control his mood, 
which the previous circumstances of the morning 
were not altogether calculated to soften greatly. He 
replied therefore evasively. 

"Ay, to be sure I come for trade, but can't you wait 
till I haul up to the landing ? I am afraid there's not 
water enough for me to do so now, for the stream 
shoals here, as I can tell by my soundings, too greatly 
for the risk ; but to-morrow — come to-morrow, and I'll 
trade with you for such things as you want." 

* Amber, in Carolina, was supposed to exist in such quantities, at an 
early period in its history, that among the laws and constitution made 
by the celebrated John Locke for the Province, we find one, regula- 
ting its distribution among the eight lords proprietors. At present 
we have no evidence of its fruitfulness in that quarter, and the prob- 
ability is, that in the sanguine spirit of the time, the notion was 
entertained from the few specimens occasionally found and worn by 

he Indians 



** And whether ycu haul to the landing or not, why 
not trade on board to-day ? Let me bring my skins up , 
throw me a rope, and we shall soon trade. I want but 
few things, and they will require no long search ; yof 
can easily say if you have them." 

But this was pressing the point too far upon Chorley's 
good-nature. The seaman swore indignantly at the 
pertinacity of his visiter, and pouring forth a broadside 
of oaths, bade him tack ship and trouble him no longer. 

" Be off now, young one, before I send you a supply 
of lead not so much to your liking. If you don't take 
this chance and put about, you'll never catch stays 
again. I'll send a shot through your timber-trunk and 
scuttle her at once." 

Tire fierce spirit of Grayson ill brooked such treat- 
ment, but he had no remedy save in words. He did not 
scruple to denounce the seaman as a low churl and 
an illnatured ruffian. Coolly then, and with the utmost 
deliberation, paddling himself round, with a disappointed 
heart, he made once more for the cottage landing. 


" The hunters are upon thee— keep thy pace, 
Nor falter, lest the arrow strike thy back, 
And the foe trample on thy prostrate form." 

It was about the noon of the same day, when the 
son of Sanutee, the outcast and exiled Occonestoga, 
escaping from his father's assault and flying from the 
place of council as already narrated, appeared on the 
banks of the river nearly opposite the denser settle- 
ment of the whites, and several miles below Pocota- 
ligo. But the avenger had followed hard upon his 
footsteps, and he had suffered terribly in his flight. His 
whole appearance was that of the extremest wretched 
ness. His dress was torn by the thorns of many a 

TiiE Vemasseb. 163 

thicket in which he had been compelled to crawl for 
shelter. His skin had been lacerated, and the brakes 
and creeks through which he had to plough and plunge, 
had left the tribute of their mud and mire on every inch 
of his person. Nor had the trials of his mind been 
less. Previous drunkenness, the want of food and ex- 
treme fatigue (for, circuitously doubling from his pur- 
suers, he had run nearly the whole night, scarcely able 
to rest for a moment), contributed duly to the misera- 
ble figure which he made. His eyes were swollen — 
his cheeks sunken, and there was a wo-begone feeble- 
ness and utter abandon about his whole appearance 
He had been completely sobered by the hunt made 
after him ; and the instinct of life, for he knew nothing 
of the peculiar nature of the doom in reserve for him, 
had effectually called all his faculties into exercise. 

When hurried from the council-house by Sir Ed- 
mund Bellinger, to save him from the anger of his 
father, he had taken the way under a filial and natural 
influence to the lodge of Matiwan. And she cheered 
and would have cherished him, could that have been 
done consistently with her duty to her lord. What she 
could do, however, she did ; and though deeply sorrowing 
over his prostituted manhood, she could not at the same 
time forget that he was her son. But in her cabin he 
was not permitted to linger long. Watchful for the re- 
turn of Sanutee, Matiwan was soon apprized of the 
approach of the pursuers. The people, collected to 
avenge themselves upon the chiefs, were not likely to 
suffer the escape of one, who, like Occonestoga, had 
done so much to subject them, as they thought, to the 
dominion of the English. A party of them, accordingly, 
hearing of his flight and readily conceiving its direc- 
tion, took the same route ; and, but for the mother's 
watchfulness, he had then shared the doom of the 
other chiefs. But she heard their coming and sent 
him on his way ; not so soon, however, as to make 
his start in advance of them a matter of very great 
importance to his flight. They were close upon his 
heels, and when he cowered silently in the brake, they 


took their way directly beside him. When he lay 
stretched alongside of the fallen tree they stepped over 
his body, and when, seeking a beaten path in his tor- 
tuous course, he dared to look around him, the waving 
pine torches which they carried, flamed before his 
eyes. — 

" I will burn feathers, thou shalt have arrows, Opit- 
chi-Manneyto. Be not wroth with the young chief 
of Yemassee. Make the eyes blind that hunt after 
him for blood. Thou shalt have arrows and feathers, 
Opitchi-Manneyto — a bright fire of arrows and feath- 
ers !" 

Thus, as he lay beneath the branches of a fallen 
tree around which his pursuers were winding, the 
young warrior uttered the common form of deprecation 
and prayer to the evil deity of his people, in the lan- 
guage of the nation. But he did not despair, though 
he prayed. Though now easily inebriated and ex- 
tremely dissolute in that respect, Occonestoga was a 
gallant and a very skilful partisan even in the estima- 
tion of the Indians. He had been one of the most 
promising of all their youth, when first made a chief, 
after a great battle with the Savannahs, against whom 
he first distinguished himself. This exceeding promise 
at first, made the mortification of his subsequent fall 
more exquisitely painful to Sanutee, who was proud 
and ambitious. JNor was Occonestoga himself utterly 
insensible to his degradation. When sober, his humilia- 
tion and shame were scarcely less poignant than that of 
his father; but, unhappily, the seduction of strong drink, 
he had never been able to withstand. He was easily 
persuaded and as easily overcome. He had thus gone 
on for some time ; and, with this object, had sought 
daily communication with the lower classes of the 
white settlers, from whom alone liquor could be ob- 
tained. For this vile reward he had condescended to 
the performance of various services for the whites, held 
degrading by his own people ; until, at length, but for his 
father's great influence, which necessarily restrained 
the popular feeling on the subject of the son's conduct 


he had long since been thrust from any consideration 
or authority among them. Originally, he had been 
highly popular. His courage had been greatly admired, 
and admirably consorted with the strength and beauty 
of his person. Even now, bloated and blasted as he 
was, there was something highly prepossessing in his 
general appearance. He was tall and graceful, broad 
and full across the breast, and straight as an arrow. 
But the soul was debased, and if it were possible at 
all, in the thought of an Indian, for a moment to meditate 
the commission of suicide, there was that in the coun- 
tenance and expression of Occonestoga, as he rose 
from the morass, on the diversion from his track of 
the pursuers, almost to warrant the belief that his detes- 
tation of life had driven him to such a determination. 
But on he went, pressing rapidly forward, while the 
hunters were baffled in rounding a dense brake through 
which in his desperation he had dared to go. He 
was beyond them, but they were between him and the 
river ; and for the white settlements, his course — the 
only course in which he hoped for safety — was bent. 
Day came, and still the shouts of the pursuers, and 
occasionally a sight of them, warned him into increased 
activity — a necessity greatly at variance with the fa- 
tigue he had already undergone. In addition to this, 
his flight had taken him completely out of his contempla- 
ted route. To recover and regain it was now his object. 
Boldly striking across the path of his hunters, Occo- 
nestoga darted along the bed of a branch which ran 
parallel with the course he aimed to take. He lay 
still as they approached — he heard their retreating 
footsteps, and again he set forward. But the ear and 
the sense of the Indian are as keen as his own arrow, 
and the pursuers were not long misled. They retrieved 
their error, and turned with the fugitive ; but the in- 
stinct of preservation was still active, and momentary 
success gave him a new stimulant to exertion. At 
length, when almost despairing and exhausted, his eyes 
beheld and his feet gained the bank of the river, still 
ahead of his enemy ; and grateful, but exhausted, he 


lay for a few moments stretched upon the sands, and 
gazing upon the quiet waters before him. He was not 
long suffered to remain in peace. A shout arrested his 
attention, and he started to his feet to behold two of his 
pursuers emerging at a little distance from the forest. 
To be hunted thus like a dog was a pang, and previous 
fatigue and a strong impulse of desperation persuaded 
him that death were far preferable to the miserable and 
outcast life which he led. So feeling, in that one mo- 
ment of despair, he threw open the folds of his hunting 
shirt, and placing his hand upon his breast, cried 
out to them to shoot. But the bow was unlifted, the 
arrow undrawn, and to his surprise the men who had 
pursued him as he thought for his blood, now refused 
what they had desired. They increased their efforts 
to take, but not to destroy him. The circumstance 
surprised him ; and with a renewal of his thought 
came a renewed disposition to escape. Without fur- 
ther word, and with the instantaneous action of his 
reason, he plunged forward into the river, and diving 
down like an otter, reserved his breath until, arising, he 
lay in the very centre of the stream. But he arose 
enfeebled and overcome — the feeling of despair grew 
with his weakness, and turning a look of defiance upon 
the two Indians who still stood in doubt watching his 
progress from the banks which they had now gained, he 
raised himself breast high with a sudden effort from the 
water, and once more challenged their arrows to his 
breast, which, with one hand, he struck with a fierce vio- 
lence, the action of defiance and despair. As they saw 
the action, one of them, as if in compliance with the 
demand, lifted his bow, but the other the next instant 
struck it down. Half amazed and wondering at what 
he saw, and now almost overcome by his effort, the 
sinking Occonestoga gave a single shout of derision, and 
ceased all further effort. The waters bore him down. 
Once, and once only, his hand was struck out as if in 
the act of swimming, while his head was buried ; and 
then the river closed over him. The brave but 
desponding warrior sunk hopelessly, just as the little 


skiff of Hugh Grayson, returning from his interview 
with Chorley, which we have already narrated, darted 
over the small circle in the stream which still bubbled 
and broke where the young Indian had gone down. 
The whole scene had been witnessed by him, and he 
had urged every sinew in approaching. His voice; as 
he called aloud to Occonestoga, whom he well knew, 
had been unheard by the drowning and despairing man. 
But still he came in time, for, as his little boat whirled 
about under the direction of his paddle and around the 
spot, the long black hair suddenly grew visible above 
the water, and in the next moment was firmly clutched 
in the grasp of the Carolinian. With difficulty he sus- 
tained the head above the surface, still holding on by the 
hair. The banks were not distant, and the little paddle 
which he employed was susceptible of use by one 
hand. Though thus encumbered, he was soon ena- 
bled to get within his depth. This done, he jumped 
from the boat, and by very great effort bore the 
unconscious victim to the land. A shout from the 
Indians on the opposite bank, attested their own interest 
in the result ; and they were lost in the forest just at 
fbp moment when returning consciousness on the part 
of Occonestoga, had rewarded Grayson for the efforts he 
had made and still continued making for his recovery. 

" Thou art better now, Occonestoga, art thou not ?" 
was the inquiry of his preserver. 

" Feathers and arrows for thee, Opitchi-Manneyto," 
in his own language, muttered the savage, his mind 
recurring to the previous pursuit. The youth continued 
his services without pressing him for speech, and his 
exhaustion had been so great that he could do little if 
any thing for himself. Unlashing his bow and quiver, 
Avhich had been tied securely to his back and loosing 
the belt about his body, Grayson still further contributed 
to his relief. At length he grew conscious and suf- 
ficiently restored to converse freely with his preserver ; 
and though still gloomy and depressed, Occonestoga 
returned him thanks in his own way for the assistance 
which had been given him. 



"Thou wilt go with me to my cabin, Occonestoga »'• 
" No ! Occonestoga is a dog. The woods for Occo- 
nestoga. He must seek arrows and feathers for Opitchi- 
Manneyto, who came to him in the swamp." 

The youth pressed him farther, but finding him 
obdurate, and knowing well the inflexible character of 
the Indian, he gave up the hope of persuading him to 
his habitation. They separated atlength after the delay 
of an hour,— Grayson again in his canoe, and Occo- 
nestoga plunging into the woods in the direction of the 
Block House. 


" Thus nature, with an attribute most strange. 
Clothes even the reptile. Desolate would be 
The danger, were there not, in our own thoughts, 
Something to win us to it." 

The afternoon of that day was one of those clear, 
sweet, balmy afternoons, such as make of the spring 
season m the south, a holyday term of nature. All 
was life, animated life and freshness. The month of 
April, in that region, is, indeed, 

: the time, 

When the merry birds do chime 
Airy wood-notes wild and free, 
In secluded bower and tree. 
Season of fantastic caange, 
Sweet, familiar, wild, and strange- 
Time of promise, when the leaf 
Has a tear of pleasant grief, — 
When the winds, by nature coy, 
Do both cold and heat alloy, 
Nor to either will dispense 
Their delighting preference." 

The day had been gratefully warm ; and, promising 
an early summer, there was a prolific show of foliage 
throughout the forest. The twittering of a thousand 


various birds, and the occasional warble of that Puck 
of the American forests, the mocker — the Coonee- 
latee, or Trick-tongue of the Yemassees — together 
with the gleesome murmur of zephyr and brook, gave 
to the scene an aspect of wooing and seductive 
repose, that coidd not fail to win the sense into a 
most happy unconsciousness. The old oaken grove 
which Bess Matthews, in compliance with the prayei 
of her lover, now approached, was delightfully con- 
ceived for such an occasion. All things within it 
seemed to breathe of love. The murmur of the 
brooklet, the song of the bird, the hum of the zephyr 
in the tree-top, had each a corresponding burden. The 
Providence surely has its purpose in associating only 
with the woods those gentle, and beautiful influences 
which are without use or object to the obtuse sense, 
and can only be felt and valued by a spirit of corre- 
sponding gentleness and beauty. The scene itself, to 
the eye, was of like character. The rich green of the 
leaves — the deep crimson of the wild flower — the 
gemmed and floral-knotted long grass that carpeted the 
path — the deep, solemn shadows of evening, and the 
trees through which the now declining sun was enabled 
only here and there to sprinkle a few drops from his 
golden censer — all gave power to that spell of quiet, 
which, by divesting the mind of its associations of every- 
day and busy life, throws it back upon its early and 
unsophisticated nature — restoring that time in the elder 
and better condition of humanity, when, unchanged by 
conventional influences, the whole business of life 
seems to have been the worship of high spirits, and 
the exercise of living, holy, and generous affections. 

The scene and time had a strong influence over the 
maiden, as she slowly took her way to the place of 
meeting. Bess Matthews, indeed, was singularly 
susceptible of such influences. She was a girl of 
heart, a wild heart — a thing of the forest, — gentle as 
its innocentest flowers, quite as lovely, and if, unlike 
*hem, the creature of a less fleeting life, one, at least, 
whose youth and freshness might almost persuade us 

Vot. I. 15 


to regard her as never having been in existence for a 
longer season. She was also a girl of thought and 
intellect — something too, of a dreamer : — one to whom 
a song brought a sentiment — the sentiment an emotion, 
and that in turn seeking an altar which called for all 
the worship of her spirit. She had in her own heart 
a far sweeter song than that which she occasionally 
murmured from her lips. She felt all the poetry, all 
the truth of the scene — its passion, its inspiration, 
and, with a holy sympathy for all of nature's beautiful, 
the associated feeling of admiration for all that was 
noble, awakened in her mind a sentiment, and in her 
heart an emotion, that led her, not less to the most care- 
ful forbearance to tread upon the humblest flower, than 
to a feeling little short of reverence in the contempla- 
tion of the gigantic tree. It was her faith with one 
of the greatest of modern poets, that the daisy en- 
joyed its existence ; and that, too, in a degree of ex- 
quisite perception, duly according with its loveliness 
of look and delicacy of structure. This innate prin- 
ciple of regard for the beautiful forest idiots, as we may 
call its leaves and flowers, was duly heightened, we 
may add, by the soft passion of love then prevailing 
in her bosom for Gabriel Harrison. She loved him 
as she found in him the strength of the tree well 
combined with the softness of the flower. Her heart 
and fancy at once united in the recognition of his claims 
upon her affections ; and, however unknown in other 
respects, she loved him deeply and devotedly for 
what she knew. Beyond what she saw — beyond 
the knowledge gathered from his uttered sentiments, 
and the free grace of his manner — his manliness, and, 
at the same time, his forbearance, — he was scarcely 
less a mystery to her than to her father, to whom mys- 
tery had far less of recommendation. But the secret, 
so he had assured her, would be soon explained ; and 
she was satisfied to believe in the assurance. She cer- 
tainly longed for the time to come ; and we shall be 
doing no discredit to her sense of maidenly delicacy 
when we say, that she longed for the development not 


so much because she desired the satisfaction of her 
curiosity, as because the objections of her sire, so 
Harrison had assured her, would then certain* y be re- 
moved, and their union would immediately fonow. 

" He is not come," she murmured, half disappointed, 
as the old grove of oaks with all its religious solemnity 
of shadow lay before bjer. She took her seat at the 
foot of a tree, the growth of a century, whose thick 
and knotted roots, started from their sheltering earth, 
shot even above the long grass around them, and 
ran in irregular sweeps for a considerable distance 
upon the surface. Here she sat not long, for her 
mind grew impatient and confused with the various 
thoughts crowding upon it — sweet thoughts it may be, 
for she thought, of him — almost of him, only, whom 
she loved, and of the long hours of happy enjoyment 
which the future had in store. Then came the fears, 
following fast upon the hopes, as the shadows follow 
the sunlight. The doubts of existence — the brevity 
and the fluctuations of life ; these are the contempla- 
tions even of happy love, and these beset and saddened 
her ; till, starting up in that dreamy confusion which 
the scene not less than the subject of her musings had 
inspired, she glided among the old trees, scarce con- 
scious of her movement. 

" He does not come — he does not come," she mur- 
mured, as she stood contemplating the thick copse 
spreading before her, and forming the barrier which 
terminated the beautiful range of oaks that consti- 
tuted the grove. How beautiful was the green and gar- 
niture of that little copse of wood. The leaves were 
thick, and the grass around lay folded over and over in 
bunches, with here and there a wild flower, gleaming 
from its green and making of it a beautiful carpe; of 
the richest and most various texture. A small tree 
rose from the centre of a clump around which a wild 
grape gadded luxuriantly ; and, with an incoherent 
sense of what she saw, she lingered before the li'.tle 
cluster, seeming to survey that which she had no 
thought for at the moment. Things grew indistinct, to 


her wandering eye — the thought was turned inward 
— and the musing spirit denying the governing sense 
to the external agents and conductors, they failed duly 
to appreciate the forms that rose, and floated, and glided 
before them. In this way, the leaf detached made no 
impression upon the sight that was yet bent upon it ; 
she saw not the bird, though it whirled, untroubled by a 
fear, in wanton circles around her head — and the 
black-snake, with the rapidity of an arrow, darted over 
her path without arousing a single terror in the form 
that otherwise would have shivered but at its appear- 
ance. And yet, though thus indistinct were all things 
around her to the musing mind of the maiden, her eye 
was singularly impressed with one object, peering out 
at intervals from the little bush beneath it. She saw 
or thought she saw, at moments, through the bright 
green of the leaves, a star-like glance, a small bright 
ray, subtile, sharp, beautiful — an eye of the leaf itself, 
darting the most searching looks into her own. Now 
the leaves shook and the vines waved elastically and 
in beautiful forms before her, but the star-like eye was 
there, bright and gorgeous, and still glancing up to her 
own. How beautiful — how strange, did it appear to 
the maiden. She watched it still with a dreaming 
sense, but with a spirit strangely attracted by its beauty 
— with a feeling in which awe and admiration were 
equally commingled. She could have bent forward to 
pluck the gem-like thing from the bosom of the leaf in 
which it seemed to grow, and from which it gleamed 
so brilliantly ; but once, as she approached, she heard 
a shrill scream from the tree above her — such a scream 
as the mock-bird makes, when, angrily, it raises its 
dusky crest, and flaps its wings furiously against its 
slender sides. Such a scream seemed like a warning, 
and though yet unawakened to full consciousness, it 
repelled her approach. More than once, in her survey 
of this strange object, had she heard that shrill note, 
and still had it carried to her ear the same note of 
warning, and to her mind the same vague conscious- 
ness of an evil presence. But the star-like eye was yet 


upon her own — a small, bright eye, quick like that of a 
bird, now steady in its place and observant seemingly 
only of hers, now darting forward with all the cluster- 
ing leaves about it, and shooting up towards her, as if 
wooing her to seize. At another moment, riveted 
to the vine which lay around it, it would whirl round 
and round, dazzlingly bright and beautiful, even as a 
torch, waving hurriedly by night in the hands of some 
playful boy ; — but, in all this time, the glance was never 
taken from her own — there it grew, fixed — a very prin- 
ciple of light, — and such a light — a subtile, burning, 
piercing, fascinating light, such as gathers in vapour 
above the old grave, and binds us as we look — shooting, 
darting directly into her own, dazzling her gaze, defeat- 
ing its sense of discrimination, and confusing strangely 
that of perception. She felt dizzy, for, as she looked, 
a cloud of colours, bright, gay, various colours, floated 
and hung like so much drapery around the single 
object that had so secured her attention and spell- 
bound her feet. Her limbs felt momently more and 
more insecure — her blood grew cold, and she seemed 
to feel the gradual freeze of vein by vein, throughout 
her person. At that moment a rustling was heard in 
the branches of the tree beside her, and the bird, which 
had repeatedly uttered a single cry, as it were of 
warning, above her, flew away from his station with a 
scream more piercing than ever. This movement had 
the effect, for which it really seemed intended, of bring- 
ing back to her a portion of the consciousness she 
seemed so totally to have been deprived of before. She 
strove to move from before the beautiful but terrible 
presence, but for a while she strove in vain. The 
rich, star-like glance still riveted her own, and the 
subtle fascination kept her bound. The mental ener- 
gies, however, with the moment of their greatest trial, 
now gathered suddenly to her aid; and, with a desperate 
effort, but with a feeling still of most annoying uncer- 
tainty and dread, she succeeded partially in the attempt, 
and leaned backward against the neighbouring tree, 
feeble, tottering, and depending upon it for that support 


which her own limbs almost entirely denied her. With 
her movement, however, came the full development 
of the powerful spell and dreadful mystery before her. 
As her feet receded, though but a single pace, to the 
tree against which she now rested, the audibly ar- 
ticulated ring, like that of a watch when wound up 
with the verge broken, announced the nature of that 
splendid yet dangerous presence, in the form of the 
monstrous rattlesnake, now, but a few feet before her, 
lying coiled at the bottom of a beautiful shrub, with 
which, to her dreaming eye, many of its own glorious 
hues had been associated. She was conscious enough 
to discriminate and to perceive, but terror had denied 
her the strength necessary to fly from her dreadful 
enemy. There still the eye glared beautifully bright 
and piercing upon her own ; and, seemingly in a 
spirit of sport, he slowly unwound himself from his 
coil, then immediately, the next moment, again gathered 
himself into its muscular masses — the rattle still 
slightly ringing at intervals, and giving forth that para- 
lyzing sound, which, once heard, is remembered for 
ever. The reptile all this while appeared to be con- 
scious of, and to sport with, while seeking to excite 
her terrors. Now, with its flat head, distended mouth, 
and curving neck, would it dart forward its long 
form towards her, — its fatal teeth, unfolding on either 
side of its jaws, seeming to threaten her with in- 
stantaneous death, while its powerful eye shot forth 
glances of that fatal power of fascination, malignantly 
bright, which, by paralyzing with a novel form of 
terror and of beauty, may readily account for the 
spell it possesses of binding the feet of the timid, and 
denying to fear even the privilege of flight. Then, 
the next moment, recovering quickly, it would resume 
its folds, and with arching neck, which now glittered 
like a bar of brazed copper, and fixed eye, continue, 
calmly as it were, to contemplate the victim of its 
secreted venom — the pendulous rattle still ringing the 
death-note as if to prepare the conscious mind for the 
fate which was at hand. Its various folds were now 


complete — the coil forming a series of knots — the 
muscles, now and then, rising rigidly into a hill, now 
corded down by the pressure of another of its folds 
into a valley. These suddenly unclasping, in the gen- 
eral effort to strike its enemy, give it that degree of im- 
petus which enables it to make its stroke as fatal, 
at the full extent of its own length, as when, suddenly 
invaded, its head is simply elevated and the blow given. 
The glance of Bess Matthews at this moment upon 
her enemy, assured her that the sport of the deadly 
reptile was about to cease. She could not now mis- 
take the fearful expression of its eye. She strove to 
scream, but her voice died away in her throat. Her 
lips were sealed — she sought to fly, but her limbs were 
palsied — she had nothing left of life but its conscious- 
ness ; and in despair of escape, with a single scream, 
forced from her by the accumulated agony, she sunk 
down upon the grass before her enemy — her eyes, 
however, still open, and still looking upon those 
which he directed for ever upon them. She saw him 
approach — now advancing, now receding — now swell- 
ing in every part with something of anger, while his 
neck was arched beautifully like that of a wild horse 
underthecurb; until, at length, tired as it were of play, 
like the cat with its victim, she saw the neck growing 
larger and becoming completely bronzed when about 
to strike — the huge jaws unclosing almost directly 
above her, the long tubulated fang, charged with venom, 
protruding from the cavernous mouth — and she saw no 
more ! Insensibility came to her aid, and she lay 
almost lifeless under the very folds of the monster. In 
that moment the copse parted — and an arrow, piercing 
him through and through the neck, bore his head for- 
ward to the ground, alongside of the maiden, while his 
spiral extremities, now unfolding in his own agony, 
were actually, in part, resting upon her person. The 
arrow came from the fugitive Occonestoga, who had 
fortunately reached the spot, in season, on his way to 
the Block House. He rushed from the copse, as the 
snake fell, and, with a stick, fearlessly approached him 


where he lay writhing upon the grass. Seeing him 
advance, the courageous reptile made an effort to 
regain his coil, while shaking the fearful rattle vio- 
lently at every evolution which he took for that pur- 
pose ; but the arrow, completely passing through his 
neck, opposed an unyielding obstacle to the endeavour; 
and finding it hopeless, and seeing the new enemy 
about to assault him, with something of the spirit of 
the white man under like circumstances, he turned 
recklessly round, and striking his charged fangs, so 
that they were riveted in the wound they made, into 
a susceptible part of his own body, he threw himself 
over upon his back with a single convulsion, and 
a moment after, lay dead upon the person of the 


" Come with me ; thou shalt hear of my resolve, 
Then hasten to thy labour." 

Without giving more than a single glance to the 
maiden, Occonestoga approached the snake, and, draw- 
ing his knife, prepared to cut away the rattles, always 
a favourite Indian ornament, which terminated his 

* The power of the rattlesnake to fascinate, is a frequent faith 
among the superstitious of the southern country-people. Of this 
capacity in reference to birds and insects, frogs, and the smaller rep- 
tiles, there is indeed little question. Its power over persons is not so 
well authenticated, although numberless instances of this sort are 
given by persons of very excellent veracity. The above is almost liter- 
ally worded after a verbal narrative furnished the author by an old 
iady, who never dreamed, herself, of doubting the narration. It is more 
Jhan probable, indeed, that the mind of a timid person, coming sud- 
denly upon a reptile so highly venomous, would for a time be para- 
lyzed by its consciousness of danger, sufficiently so to defeat exertion 
».ir a while, and deny escape. The authorities for this superstition 
ere, however, quite sufficient for the romancer, and in a work like the 
present, we need no other. 


elongated folds. He approached his victim with a 
deportment the most respectful, and, after the manner 
of his people, gravely, and in the utmost good faith, 
apologized in well set terms, in his own language, for 
the liberty he had already taken, and that which he 
was then about to take. He protested the necessity 
he had been under in destroying it ; and urging his 
desire to possess the excellent and only evidence 
of his own prowess in conquering so great a warrior, 
which the latter carried at his tail, he proceeded to cut 
away the rattles with as much tenderness as could 
have been shown by the most considerate operator, 
divesting a fellow-creature, still living, of his limbs. 
A proceeding like this, so amusing as it would seem 
to us, is readily accounted for, when we consider the 
prevailing sentiment among the Indians in reference to 
the rattlesnake. With them he is held the gentleman, 
the nobleman — the very prince of snakes. His attri- 
butes are devoutly esteemed among them, and many of 
their own habits derive their existence from models 
furnished by his peculiarities. He is brave, will never 
fly from an enemy, and for this they honour him. If 
approached, he holds his ground and is never unwil 
ling for the combat. — He does not begin the affray, 
and is content to defend himself against invasion. He 
will not strike without due warning of his intention, 
and when he strikes, the blow of his weapon is fatal. 
It is highly probable, indeed, that even the war-whoop 
with which the Indians preface their own onset, has 
been borrowed from the rattling warning of this fatal, 
but honourable enemy.* 

* This respect of the Indians for the rattlesnake, leading most 
■usually to much forbearance when they encountered him, neces 
sarily resulted in the greater longevity of this snake than of any 
other. In some cases, they have been found so overgrown from 
this indulgence, as to be capable of swallowing entire a good-sized 
fawn. An instance of this description has been related by the 
early settlers of South Carolina, and, well authenticated, is to be 
found on record. The movements of the rattlesnake are usually 
very slow, and the circumstance of his taking prey so agile as the 
fawn, would be something in favour of an extensive fascinating 
faculty. That he takes birds with some such influence there is no 
*ort of question. 


Many minutes had not elapsed before the operation 
was completed, and the Indian became the possessor 
of the desired trophy. The snake had thirteen rattles, 
and a button, or bastard rattle ; it was therefore four- 
teen years old — as it acquires the button during its 
first year, and each succeeding year yields it a new rat- 
tle. As he drew the body of the serpent from that of 
Bess Matthews, her eyes unclosed, though but for an 
instant. The first object in her gaze was the swollen 
and distorted reptile, which the Indian was just then 
removing from her person. Her terror was aroused 
anew, and with a single shriek she again closed her 
eyes in utter unconsciousness. At that moment, Har- 
rison darted down the path. That single shriek had 
given wings to his movement, and rushing forward and 
beholding her clasped in the arms of Occonestoga, 
who, at her cry, had come to her support, and had 
raised her partially from the ground — he sprang fiercely 
upon him, tore her from his hold, and sustaining her 
with one hand, wielded his hatchet fiercely in the 
other above his own head, while directing its edge 
down upon that of the Indian. Occonestoga looked 
up indifferently, almost scornfully, and without exhibit- 
ing any desire or making any show for his own defence 
or protection. This exhibition of recklessness ar- 
rested the blow of Harrison, who now addressed him 
in tones of anxious inquiry : — 

" Speak, what is this — speak, Occonestoga, or I 

" Strike, Harrison ! — the hatchet is good for Occo- 
nestoga. He has a death-song that is good. He can 
die like a man." 

" What hast thou done with the maiden — tell me, 
Occonestoga, ere I hew thee down like a dog." 

" Occonestoga is a dog. Sanutee, the father of Oc- 
conestoga, says he is the dog of the English. There 
is no fork in the tongue of Sanutee. The war-rattle 
put his eye on the girl of the pale-face, and she cried. 
Look, Harrison, it is the arrow of Occonestoga," and 
as he spoke he pointed to the shaft which still stuck 


in the neck of the serpent. Harrison, who before 
had not seen the snake, which the Indian had thrown 
aside under a neighbouring bush, now shivered as 
with a convulsion, while, almost afraid to speak, and 
his face paling like death as he did so, he cried to 
him in horror:— 

" God of Heaven— speak, Occonestoga — speak — is 
she struck — is she struck ?" and before he could hear 
the reply, bis tremours were so great that he was com- 
pelled to lay the still insensible form of the maiden, 
unequal then to her support, upon the grass beside' 

The Indian smiled with something of a scornful sat- 
isfaction as he replied — 

" It was the swift arrow of Occonestoga — and the 
war-rattle had no bite for the girl of the pale-faces. 
The blood is good in her heart." 

"Thank God— thank God! Young chief of the 
Yemassees, I thank thee— I thank thee, Occonestoga— 
thou shalt have a rich gift — a noble reward for this ;" 
and seizing the hand of the savage wildly, he pressed 
it with a tenacious gripe that well attested the sinceri- 
ty of his feelings. But the gloom of the savage was 
too deeply driven into his spirit by his recent treat- 
ment and fugitive privations, to experience much pleas- 
ure either from the proffered friendship or the prom- 
ised reward of the English. He had some feeling of 
nationality left, which a return to sobriety always 
made active. 

" Occonestoga is a dog," said he, " death for Occo- 
nestoga !" 

For a moment, Harrison searched him narrowly 
with his eye, but as he saw in his look nothing but the 
one expression with which -an Indian in the moment 
of excitement conceals all others, of sullen indiffer- 
ence to all things around him, he forbore further re- 
mark, and simply demanded assistance in the recovery 
of the maiden. Water was brought, and after a few 
moments her lover had the satisfaction of noting her 
returning consciousness. The colour came back to 


her cheeks, her eyes opened upon the light, her tip* 
murmured in prayer, — a prayer for protection, as it* 
she still felt the dangers from which she had escaped 
so happily. But the glance of her lover reassured 

" Oh, Gabriel, such a dream — such a horrible dream," 
and she shuddered and looked anxiously around her. 

" Ay, dearest, such as I never desire that you shall 
have again. But fear not. You are now safe and 
entirely unhurt. Thanks to our brave friend Occo- 
nestoga here, whose arrow has been your safety." 

" Thanks, thanks to thee, chief — I know thee, I shall 
remember," and she looked gratefully to the Indian, 
whose head simply nodded a recognition of her 

" But where, Gabriel, is the monster I Oh ! how 
its eye dazzled and insnared me. I felt as if my 
feet were tied, and my knees had lost all their 

" There he lies, Bess, and a horrible monster indeed. 
See there, his rattles, thirteen and a button — an old 
snake whose blow had certainly been death upon the 

The maiden shuddered as she looked upon the reptile 
to whose venom she had so nearly fallen a victim. 
It was now swollen to a prodigious size from the 
natural effects of its own poison. In places about 
its body, which the fatal secretion had most easily 
effected, it had bulged out into putrid lumps, almost to 
bursting ; while, from one end to the other of its at- 
tenuated length, the linked diamonds which form the 
ornament of its back, had, from the original dusky 
brown and sometimes bronze of their colour, now 
assumed a complexion of spotted green — livid and dis- 
eased. Its eyes, however, had not yet lost all of that 
original and awful brightness, which, when looking 
forth in anger, nothing can surpass for terrific beauty 
of expression. The powers of this glance none 
may well express, and few imagine ; and when wo 
take into consideration the feeling of terror with which 


the timid mind is apt to contemplate an object known 
to be so fatal, it will not be difficult to account for its 
possession of the charm, commonly ascribed to this rep 
tile in the interior of the southern country, by which, 
it is the vulgar faith, he can compel the bird from the 
highest tree to leave his perch, shrieking with fear and 
full of the most dreadful consciousness, struggling with 
all the power of its wings, and, at last, after every effort 
has proved fruitless, under the influence of that un- 
swerving glance, to descend even into the jaws which 
lie waiting to receive it. Providence in this way has 
seemingly found it necessary to clothe even with a 
moral power the evanescent and merely animal nature 
of its creation ; and, with a due wisdom, for, as the 
rattlesnake is singularly slow in its general movements, 
it might suffer frequently from want of food unless some 
such power had been assigned it. The study of all 
nature with a little more exactitude, would perhaps 
discover to us an enlarged instinct in every other form 
of life, which a narrow analysis might almost set 
down as the fullest evidence of an intellectual exist- 

The interview between Harrison and Bess Matthews 
had been especially arranged with reference to a 
discussion of various matters, important to both, and 
affecting the relations which existed between them. 
But it was impossible in the prostrate and nervous 
condition in which he found her, that much could be 
thought or said of other matters than those which had 
been of the last few moments, occurrence. Still they 
lingered, and still they strove to converse on their 
affairs ; despite the presence of Occonestoga, who sat 
patiently at the foot of a tree without show of- discon- 
tent or sign of hunger, though for a term of at least 
eighteen hours he had eaten nothing. In this lies one 
of the chief merits of an Indian warrior — 

" Severe the school that made him bear 
The ills of life without a tear — 
And stern the doctrine that denied 
The chieftain fame, the warrior pride ; 
I- 18 


Who, urged by nature's wants, express'd 
The need that hunger'd in his breast — 
Or, when beneath his foeman's knife, 
Who utter'd recreant prayer for life — 
Or, in the chase, whose strength was spent, 
Or in the fight whose knee was bent, 
Or, when with tale of coining fight 
Who sought his allies' lodge by night, 
And ere his missives well were told, 
Complained of hunger, wet, and cold. 
A woman, if in fight his foe, 
Could give, yet not receive a blow — 
Or, if undext'rously and dull, 

His hand and knife had failed to win 
The dripping, warm scalp from the scull, 

To trim his yellow mocquasin." 

Thus, a perfect imbodiment of the character, so 
wrought and so described, Occonestoga, calm, sullen, 
and stern, sat beneath the tree, without look or word 
significant of that fatigue and hunger under which he 
must have been seriously suffering. He surveyed with 
something like scorn those evidences between the 
lovers of that nice and delicate affection which belongs 
only to the highest grades of civilization. At length* 
bidding him wait his return, Harrison took the way 
with Bess, who was now sufficiently restored for that 
purpose, to the cottage of the pastor. It was not long 
before he returned to the savage, whose hand he again 
shook cordially and affectionately, while repeating his 
grateful promise of reward. Then turning to a subject 
at that time strongly present in his mind, he inquired 
into the recent demonstrations of his people. 

" Occonestoga, what news is this of the Yemassee ? 
He is angry, is he not ?" 

" Angry to kill, Harrison. Is not the scout On the 
path of Occonestoga — Occonestoga the son of Sanutee? 
— look ! the tomahawk of Sanutee shook in the eyes 
of Occonestoga. — The swift foot, the close bush, the 
thick swamp and the water — they were the friends 
of Occonestoga. Occonestoga is a dog. — The scouts 
of Yemassee look for him in the swamps." 

" You must be hungry and weary, Occonestoga. 
Come with me to the Block House, where there are 
meat and drink." 


" Harrison is friend to Occonestoga." 

" Surely I am,' 1 was the reply. 

" The good friend will kill Occonestoga?" was the 
demand, uttered in tones of more solicitude than is 
common to the Indian. 

" No ; kill you ? surely not — why should I kill 
you ?" 

" It is good ! knife Occonestoga, Englishman ; put 
the sharp tooth here, in his heart, for the father of 
Occonestoga has a curse for his name — " was the 
solemn imploration. 

" No, Occonestoga — no. — I will do no such thing. 
Thou shalt live and do well, and be at friendship with 
thy father and thy people. Come with me to the 
Block House and get something to eat. We will there 
talk over this affair of thy people. Come ;" and with 
an air of indifference, the melancholy savage followed 
his conductor to the Block House, where the trader and 
his wife received them. 


" And wherefore sings he that strange song of death. 
That song of sorrow ? Is the doom at hand ? 
Stand close and hear him." 

The wife of Granger soon provided refreshments 
for the young savage, of which he ate sparingly, 
though without much seeming consciousness of what 
he was doing. Harrison did not trouble him much 
with remark or inquiry, but busied himself in looking 
after some of the preparations for defence of the 
building ; and for this purpose, Hector and himself 
occupied an hour in the apartment adjoining that in 
which the household concerns of Granger were carried 
on. In this apartment Hector kept Dugdale, a famous 
blood-hound, supposed to have been brought from the 


Caribbees, which, when very young, Harrison had 
bought from a Spanish trader. This dog is a peculiar 
breed, and resembled in some leading respects the 
Irish wolf-hound, while, having all the thirst and appe 
tite for blood which distinguished the more ancient 
Slute or Sleuth-hound of the Scots. It is a mistake to 
suppose that the Spaniards brought these dogs to 
America. They found them here, actually in use by 
the Indians and for like purposes, and only perfected 
their training, while stimulating them in the pursuit of 
man. The dog Dugdale had been partially trained 
after their fashion to hunt the Indians, and even under 
his present owner, it was not deemed unbecoming 
that he should be prepared for the purposes of war upon 
the savages, by the occasional exhibition of a stuffed 
figure, so made and painted as to resemble a naked 
Indian, around whose neck a lump of raw and bleed- 
ing beef was occasionally suspended. This was shown 
him while chained, — from any near approach he was 
withheld, until his appetite had been so wrought upon, 
that longer restraint would have been dangerous and 
impossible. The training of these dogs, as known to 
the early French and Spanish settlers, by both of 
whom they were in common use for the purpose of 
war with the natives, is exceeding curious ; and so 
fierce under this form of training did they become in 
process of time, that it was found necessary to restrain 
them in cages while thus stimulated, until the call to 
the field, and the prospect of immediate strife should 
give an opportunity for the exercise of their unallayed 
rapacity. In the civil commotions of Hayti, the most 
formidable enemies known to the insurrectionists were 
the fierce dogs which had been so educated by the 
French. A curious work, found in the Charleston 
Library, devoted to the history of that time and prov- 
ince, is illustrated with several plates which show the 
training common with the animal. The dog of Harrison 
had not however been greatly exercised by his present 
owner after this fashion. He had been simply required 
to follow and attend upon his master, under the conduct 


of Hector, for both of whom his attachments had been 
singularly strong. But the early lessons of his Spanish 
masters had not been forgotten by Dugdale, who, in the 
war of the Carolinians with the Coosaws, following his 
master into battle, proved an unlooked-for auxiliar ot 
the one, and an enemy whose very appearance struck 
terror into the other. So useful an ally was not to be 
neglected, and the stuffed figure which had formed a part 
of the property of the animal in the sale by his Spanish 
master, was brought into occasional exercise and use, 
under the charge of Hector, in confirming Dugdale's 
warlike propensities. In this exercise, with the figure 
of a naked Indian perched against one corner, and a 
part of a deer's entrails hanging around his neck, 
Hector, holding back the dog by a stout rope drawn 
around a beam, the better to embarrass him at pleasure, 
was stimulating at the same time his hunger and 

" Does Dugdale play to-day, Hector V inquired his 

" He hab fine sperits, mossa — berry fine sperits. I 
kin hardly keep 'em in. See da, now, — " and, as the 
slave spoke, the dog broke away, dragging the rope sud- 
denly through the hands of the holder, and, without re- 
marking the meat, ran crouching to the feet of Harrison. 

" Him nebber forget you, mossa, ebber sense you 
put you hand down he troat." 

Harrison snapped his fingers, and motioning with his 
hand to the Weeding bowels of the deer around the 
neck of the figure, the hound sprung furiously upon it, 
and dragging it to the floor, planted himself across 
the body, while, with his formidable teeth, he tore away 
the bait from the neck where it was wound, lacerating 
the figure at every bite, in a manner which would have 
soon deprived the living man of all show of life. 
Having given some directions to the slave, Harrison 
returned to the apartment where he had left the Indian. 

Occonestoga sat in a corner mournfully croning 
over, in an uncouth strain, something of a song, rude, 
sanguinary, in his own wild language. Something of 



ihe language was known to Harrison, but not enough 
to comprehend the burden of what he sung. But the 
look and the manner of the savage were so solemn and 
imposing, so foreign, yet so full of dignified thought, 
that the Englishman did not venture to interrupt him. 
He turned to Granger, who, with his wife, was partially 
employed in one corner of the apartment, folding up 
some of his wares and burnishing others. 

" What does he sing, Granger 1" he asked of the 

"His death-song, sir. — It is something very strange 
— but he has been at it noV for some time ; and the 
Indian does not employ that song unless with a near 
prospect of death. He has probably had some dream 
or warning, and they are very apt to believe in such 

" Indeed — his death-song — " murmured Harrison, 
while he listened attentively to the low chant which 
the Indian still kept up. At his request, forbearing his 
labour, Granger listened also, and translated at inter- 
vals the purport of many of the stanzas. 

" What is the Seratee," in his uncouth lyric, sung 
the melancholy Indian — 

" What is the Seratee ? — 
He is but a dog 
Sneaking in the long grass — 
I have stood before him, 
And he did not look- 
By his hair I took him, 

By the single tuft — • 

From his head 1 tore it, 

With it came the scalp, — 

On my thigh I wore it — 

With the chiefs I stood, 

And they gave me honour, 

Made of me a chief. 

To the sun they held me, 

And aloud the prophet 

Bade me be a chief — 

Chief of all the Yemassees — ! 

Feather chief and arrow chief — 

Chief of ail the Yemassees." 

At the conclusion of this uncouth verse, he pro- 
ceeded in a different tone and manner, and his oresent 


form of speech constituted a break or pause in the 

" That Opitchi-Manneyto — wherefore is he wroth 
with the young chief who went on the war-path against 
the Seratee. He made siaves for him from the dogs of 
the long grass. Let Opitchi-Manneyto hear. Occo- 
nestoga is a brave chief, — he hath struck his hatchet 
into the lodge of the Savannah, when there was a full 
sun in the forests." 

" Now," said Granger, " he is going to tell us of 
another of his achievements." Occonestoga went 
on — 

" Hear, Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Hear Occonestoga speak — 
Who of the Savannah stood 
In the council, in the fight — 
With the gallant Suwannee?— 
Bravest he, of all the brave, 

( Like an arrow path in fight — 
When he came, his tomahawk — 
(Hear, Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Not a forked tongue is mine—) 
Frighted the brave Yemassee — 
Till Occonestoga came — 
Till Occonestoga stood 
Face to face with Suwannee, 
By the old Satilla swamp. 
Then his eyes were in the mud — 
With these hands, I tore away 
The war ringlet from his head — 
With it came the bleeding scalp — 
Suwannee is in the mud ; 
Frighted back, his warriors run, 
Left him buried in the mud — 
Ho ! the gray-wolf speaks aloud, 
Hear Opitchi-Manneyto ; 
He had plenty food that night, 
And for me he speaks aloud — 
Suwannee is in his jaw — ■ 
Look Opitchi-Manneyto — 
See him tear Suwannee's side, 
See him drink Suwannee's blood — 
With his paw upon his breast, 
Look, he pulls the heart away, 
And his nose is searching deep, 
Clammy, thick with bloody drink. 
In the hollow where it lay. 
Look, Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Look, the gray-wolf speaks for me.'' 


Then after this wild and barbarous chant which, 
verse after verse, Granger rendered to Harrison, a 
pause of a few moments was suffered to succeed, in 
which, all the while in the profoundest silence, the 
young warrior continued to wave his head backward 
and forward at regular intervals. 

" He has had a warning certainly, captain, — I have 
seen them frequently go on so. Stop — he begins !" 

Not singing, but again addressing the evil deity, 
Occonestoga began with the usual adjuration. 

" Arrows and feathers, burnt arrows and feathers — 
a bright flame for thee, Opitchi-Manneyto. Look not 
dark upon the young brave of Yemassee : Hear his 
song of the war-path and the victory" — and again he 
chanted something which seemed to be more national, 
in a more sounding and elevated strain, and which, in 
the translation of Granger, necessarily lost much of its 
native sublimitv. 

" Mighty is the Yemassee, 
Strong in the trial, 
Fearless in the strife, 
Terrible in wrath — 
Look, Opitchi-Manneyto — 
He is like the rush of clouds, 
He is like the storm by night, 
When the tree-top bends and shivers, 
When the lodge goes down. 
The Westo and the Edisto, 
What are they to him ? — 
Like the brown leaves to the cold, 
Look, they shrink before his touch, 
Shrink and shiver as he comes — 
Mighty is the Yemassee." 

Harrison now ventured to interrupt the enthusiastic 
but still sullen warrior. He interrupted him with a 
compliment, confirming that which he had himself been 
uttering to the prowess of his nation. 

" That is a true song, Occonestoga — that in praise 
of your nation. They are indeed a brave people ; 
but I fear under wild management now. But come — 
here is some drink, it will strengthen you." 

" It is good," said he, drinking — " it is good — good 
for strength. The English is a friend to Occonestoga.'* 


" We have always tried to be so, Occonestoga, as 
you should know by this time. But speak to me of 
Pocota-ligo. What have the people been doing there 1 
What maddens them, and wherefore should they grow 
angry with their English brothers ?" 

" The Yemassee is like the wolf — she smells blood 
on the track of the hunter, when the young cub is car- 
ried away. He is blind, like the rattlesnake, with the 
poison of the long sleep, when he first comes out in the 
time of the green corn. He wants blood to drink — 
he would strike the enemy." 

" I see. The Yemassees are impatient of peace. 
They would go upon the war-path, and strike the Eng- 
lish as their enemies. Is this what- you think, Oc- 
conestoga ?" 

" Harrison speaks ! The English is a friend to 
Yemassee, but Yemassee will not hear the word of 
Occonestoga. Sanutee says the tongue of Occones- 
toga has a fork — he speaks in two voices." 

" They are mad, young brave — but not so mad, I 
think, as to go on the war-path without an object. At 
this moment they could not hope to be successful, and 
would find it destructive." 

" The thought of Occonestoga is here. They will 
go on the war-path against the English." 

" Ha !— If you think so, Occonestoga, you must be 
our friend." 

" Cha ! Cha ! Occonestoga is too much friend to 
the English." 

" Not too much, not too much — not more than they 
will well reward you for." 

" Will the strong water of the English make Oc- 
conestoga to be the son of Sanutee ? Will the meat 
carry Occonestoga to the young braves of the Yemas- 
see 1 Will they sleep till he speaks for them to wake 1 
Look, Harrison, the death-song is made for Occones- 

" Not so — there is no cause yet for you to sing the 
death-song of the young warrior." 

" Occonestoga has said ! — he has seen — it came 
to him when he ate meat from the hands of the trader." 


" Ah ! that is all owing to your fatigue and hunger, 
Occonestoga. You have long years of life before you, 
and still have some services to perform for your friends 
the English. You must find out for us certainly 
whether your people mean to go on the war-path or 
not — where they will strike first, and when ; and above 
all, whether any other tribes join with them. You 
must go for us back to Pocota-ligo. You must watch 
the steps of the chiefs, and bring word of what they 

An overpowering sense of his own shame as he 
listened to this requisition of Harrison, forced his head 
down his bosom, while the gloom grew darker upon 
his face. At length he exclaimed — 

" It is no good talk : Occonestoga is a dog. The 
tomahawk of Sanutee is good for a dog." 

" Wherefore this, young chief of the Yemassee 1 — 
What mean you by this speech ?" 

" Young chief of Yemassee !" exclaimed the sav- 
age, repeating the phrase of Harrison as if in derision 
— " said you not the young chief of Yemassee should 
hunt his people like a dog in the cover of the bush ?" 

" Not like a dog, Occonestoga, but like a good friend, 
as well to the English as to the Yemassee. Is not 
peace good for both ? It is peace, not war, that the 
English desire ; but if there be war, Occonestoga, they 
will take all the scalps of your nation." 

" The English must look to his own scalp," cried 
the young man, fiercely, — " the hand of Yemassee is 
ready ; — " and as he spoke, for a moment his eye 
lightened up, and his form rose erect from the place 
where he had been sitting, while a strong feeling of 
nationality in his bosom aroused him into something 
like the warlike show of an eloquent chief inspiriting 
his tribe for the fight. But Granger, who had been 
watchful, came forward with a cup of spirits, which, 
without a word, he now handed him. The youth seized 
it hurriedly, drank it off at a single effort, and, in that 
act, the momentary enthusiasm which had lightened 
up, with a show of still surviving consciousness and 


soul, the otherwise desponding and degraded features, 
passed away ; and sinking again into his seat, he re- 
plied to the other portion of the remark of Harrison. 

" It is well, what the English speaks. Peace is 
good — peace for the Yemassee — peace for the Eng- 
lish — peace — peace for Occonestoga — Occonestoga 
speaks for peace." 

" Then let Occonestoga do as I wish him. Let him 
go this very night to Pocota-ligo. Let his eye take the 
track of the chiefs, and look at their actions. Let him 
come back to-morrow, and say all that he has seen, 
and claim his reward from the English." 

" There is death for Occonestoga if the Yemassee 
scout finds his track " 

" But the young chief has an eye like the hawk — a 
foot like the sneaking panther, and a body limber as the 
snake. He can see his enemy afar — he can hide in 
the thick bush — he can lie still under the dead timber 
when the hunter steps over it." 

" And rise to strike him in the heel like the yellow- 
belly moccasin. Yes ! The young chief is a great 
warrior — the Seratee is a dog, the Savannah is a dog 
— Look, his legs have the scalp of Suwannee and 
Chareco. Occonestoga is a great warrior." 

The vanity of the savage once enlisted, and his 
scruples were soon overcome. An additional cup of 
spirits which Granger again furnished him, concluded 
the argument, and he now avowed himself ready for 
the proposed adventure. His preparations were soon 
completed, and when the night had fairly set in, the 
fugitive was again within the boundary lines of his 
nation ; and cautiously thridding his way, with all the 
skill and cunning of an Indian, among the paths of the 
people whom he had so grievously incensed. He 
knew the danger, but he was vain of his warrior and 
hunter skill. — He did not fear death, for it is the habit- 
ual practice of the Indian's thought to regard it as a 
part of his existence ; and his dying ceremonies, other- 
wise, form no inconsiderable part of the legacy of 
renown which is left to his children. But had he 


known the doom which had been pronounced against 
him, along with the other chiefs, and which had been 
already executed upon them by the infuriated people, 
he had never ventured for an instant upon so dangerous 
a commission. 


" What love is like a mother's 1 You may break 
The heart that holds it — you may trample it 
In shame and sorrow ; but you may not tear 
One single link away that keeps it there." 

Half conscious only of his design at starting, the 
young and profligate savage, on crossing to the oppo- 
site shore, which he did "just at the Block House, 
grew more sensible, not only in reference to the object 
of his journey, but to the dangers which necessarily 
came along with it. Utterly ignorant, as yet, of that 
peculiar and unusual doom which had been pronounced 
against himself and the other chiefs, and already exe- 
cuted upon them, he had yet sufficient reason to appre- 
hend that, if taken, his punishment, death probably, 
would be severe enough. Apprehending this proba- 
bility, the fear which it inspired was not however 
sufficient to discourage him from an adventure which, 
though pledged for its performance in a moment of 
partial inebriation, was yet held by the unconventional 
and simple Indian to be all-binding upon him. Firmly 
resolved, therefore, upon the fulfilment of his promise 
to Harrison, who, with Granger and others, had often 
before employed him, though on less dangerous mis- 
sions, he went forward, preparing to watch the progress 
of events among the Yemassees, and to report duly 
the nature of their warlike proceedings. 

The aim of Harrison was preparation, and the pur- 
pose was therefore of the highest importance upon 


which Occonestoga had been sent. The generally 
exposed situation of the whole frontier occupied by the 
whites, with the delay and difficulty of warlike prepara- 
tion, rendered every precautionary measure essential on 
the part of the Carolinians. For this reason, a due and 
proper intelligence of the means, designs, and strength 
of their adversaries, became more absolutely important ; 
particularly as the capricious nature of savage affections 
makes it doubtful whether they can, for any length of 
time, continue in peace and friendship. How far Occo- 
nestoga may stand excused for the part which he had 
taken against his countrymen, whatever may have been 
the character of their cause, is a question not neces- 
sary for our consideration here. It is certain that the 
degradation consequent upon his intemperance had 
greatly contributed towards blunting that feeling of 
nationality, which is no small part of the honest boast 
of every Indian warrior. 

Night had fairly shrouded the forest when the young 
chief commenced his journey. But he knew the path, 
by night as by day, with a familiarity begun in child- 
hood. His ear, quick, keen, and discriminating by his 
education, could distinguish between and identify the 
movement of every native of the woodland cover. He 
knew the slight and hurried rustle of the black snake, 
from the slow, dignified sweep of the rattle ; and, drunk 
or sober, the bear in the thicket, or the buck bounding 
along the dry pine-land ridge, was never mistaken, 
one for the other, by our forest warrior. These, as 
they severally crossed or lay in his path — for the rattle- 
snake moves at his own pleasure — he drove aside or 
avoided ; and when contradictory sounds met his ear, 
doubtful in character or significant of some dangerous 
proximity, then would the warrior sink down into the 
bush or under the cover of the fallen tree, or steal away 
nto the sheltering shadow of the neighbouring copse, 
without so much as a breath or whisper. Such pre- 
cautions as these became more and more necessary as 
he drew nigher to the homestead of his people. The 
traces of their presence thickened momently around 
Vol. I. 17 


him. Now the torch flared across his eye, and now 
the hum of voices came with the sudden gust; and, more 
than once, moving swiftly across his path, wound a 
dusky figure like his own, bent upon some secret quest, 
and watchful like himself to avoid discovery. He too, 
perhaps, had been dimly seen in the same manner — 
not his features, for none in that depth of shadow in 
which he crept could well have made them out ; — but 
such partial glances, though he strove to avoid all 
observation, he did not so much heed, as he well knew 
that the thought of others seeing him, without ascer- 
taining who he was, would be apt to assign him a like 
pursuit with that which he assigned to those he saw — 
the nocturnal amour, — pursued by the Yemassees with a 
fastidious regard to secrecy, not because of any moral 
reserve, but that such a pursuit savours of a weakness 
unbecoming to manhood. 

On a sudden he drew back from the way he was 
pursuing, and sunk under the cover of a gigantic oak. 
A torch flamed across the path, and a dusky maiden 
carried it, followed by a young warrior. They passed 
directly beside the tree behind which Occonestoga had 
sought for shelter, and, at the first glance, he knew 
Hiwassee, the young maiden who was to have filled 
his own lodge, according to the expectations of the 
people. But he had lost sight of and forgotten her in 
the practices which had weaned him from his brethren 
and bound him to the whites. Yet he had regarded 
her with favour, and though he had never formally 
proposed to break with her the sacred wand of Checka- 
moysee,* which was to give her the title to his dwelling 
and make her his wife, yet, the public expectation had 
found sufficient warrant in his own feelings upon the 
subject. He now listened with something of disap- 
pointment, but more of self-reproach, to the proposition 
as it was made to her by another. 

"It is a brave chief, Hiwassee — a brave chief that 
would have you enter his lodge. The lodge of Echotee 

* Checkamoysee, the Yemassee Hymen. 


is ready for Hiwassee. Look ! this is the stick of 
Checkamoysee, — break it — take it in thy hands and 
break it, Hiwassee, and Echotee will quench the torch 
which thou bearest in the running water. Then shalt 
thou be the wife of a warrior, and the venison shall 
always be full in thy lodge. Break the stick of Checka- 
moysee, Hiwassee, and be the wife of Echotee." 

And the dusky maiden needed little wooing. She 
broke the stick, and as she did so, seizing the blazing 
torch with a ready hand, Echotee hurried with it to a 
brook that trickled along at a little distance, and in the 
next instant it hissed in the water, and all was dark- 
ness. Without regarding what he was doing, or think- 
ing of his own risk, Occonestoga, in the absence 
of her accepted lover, could not forbear a word, some- 
what of reproach, perhaps, in the ear of Hiwassee. 
She stood but a few paces off, under the shadow and 
on the opposite side of the same tree which gave him 
shelter ; with the broken stick still in her hand in 
attestation of her wild forest nuptial. What he said 
was unheard save by herself, but she screamed as she 
heard it ; and, hearing her lover approach, and now duly 
conscious of his error, Occonestoga in the next moment 
had darted away from the place of their tryst, and was 
pursuing his path with all the vigour of a renewed and 
resolute spirit. At length he approached the town of 
Pocota-ligo, but, at first, carefully avoiding its main 
entrance, which was upon the river, particularly as the 
throng of sounds reaching his ears from that quarter 
indicated a still active stir, he shot off circuitously into 
the thicker woods, so as to come into the immediate 
neighbourhood of his father's dwelling. From a neigh- 
bouring thicket, after a little while, he looked down 
upon the cabin which had given a birth-place and shelter 
to his infancy ; and the feeling of shame grew strong 
in his bosom as he thought upon the hopes defeated of 
his high-souled father, and of the affections thrown away 
of the gentle mother, with whom, however mortified 
and fruitless, they still continued to flourish lor the 
outcast. Such thoughts however were not permitted 


to trouble him long ; for, as he looked he beheld by the 
ruddy blaze of the pine torch which the boy carried 
before him, the person of his father emerge from the 
lodge, and take the well-known pathway leading to 
Pocota-ligo. If Occonestoga had no other virtue, that 
of love for his mother was, to a certain extent, suf- 
ficiently redeeming. His previous thoughts, his natural 
feeling, prepared him, whatever the risk, to take advan- 
tage of the opportunity thus offered him. In another 
instant, and the half penitent prodigal stood in the 
presence of Matiwan. 

" Oh, boy — Occonestoga — thou art come : — thou art 
come. Thou art not yet lost to Matiwan." And she 
threw herself, with the exclamation, fondly, though but 
for a moment, upon his neck ; the next, recovering her- 
self, she spoke in hurried tones, full of grief and appre 
hension. " Thou shouldst not come — fly, boy— -fly, 
Occonestoga — be a swift bird, that the night has over- 
taken far away from his bush. There is danger — 
there is death — not death — there is a curse for thee 
from Opitchi-Manneyto." 

" Let not the grief stand in the eye of Matiwan. 
Occonestoga fears not death. He has a song for the 
Manneyto of the blessed valley, the great warriors 
shall clap their hands and cry ' Sangarrah-me, Sangar- 
rah-me, Yemassee,' when they hear. Let not the 
grief stand in the eye of Matiwan." 

" It is for thee, for thee, boy — for thee, Occonestoga. 
The sorrow of Matiwan is for thee. Thou hast been 
in this bosom, Occonestoga, and thine eyes came, when 
the green was on the young leaf and the yellow flower 
was hanging over the lodge in the strength of the sun." 

" Know I not the song of Enoree-Mattee, when the 
eyes of Occonestoga looked up ? said he not, under the 
green leaf, under the yellow flower, the brave comes 
who shall have arrows with wings and a knife that has 
eyes 1 Occonestoga is here." 

" Matiwan was glad. Sanutee lifted thee to the sun, 
boy, and begged for thee his beams from the good 
Manneyto. The gladness is gone, Occonestoga- — 


gone from Sanutee, gone from Matiwan, — gone with 
thee. There is no green on the leaf — my eyes look 
upon the yellow flowers no longer. Occonestoga, it 
is thou, — thou hast taken all this light from the eye 
of Matiwan. The gladness and the light are gone." 

" Matiwan tells no lie — this dog is Occonestoga." 
But the gentle parent, tender even in the utterance of 
truth, fearing she had gone too far, hastily and almost 
indignantly interrupted him in the melancholy self- 
condemnation he was uttering. 

" No, no — Occonestoga is no dog. He is a brave — 
he is the son of Sanutee, the well-beloved of the Ye- 
massee. Occonestoga has shut his eyes and gone upon 
the track of a foolish dream, but he will wake with the 
sun, — and Matiwan will see the green leaf and the 
yellow flower still hanging over the lodge of Sanutee ;" 
and as she spoke she threw her arms about him affec- 
tionately, while the tears came to the relief of her 
heart and flowed freely down her cheeks. The youth 
gently but coldly disengaged her clasp, and proceeded 
to seat himself upon the broad skin lying upon the floor 
of the cabin ; when, aroused by the movement, and 
with a return of all her old apprehensions, she thrust 
him from it with an air of anxiety, if not of horror, and 
shutting her eyes upon the wondering and somewhat 
indignant glance with which he now surveyed her, 
she exclaimed passionately — 

" Go — fly — wherefore art thou here — here in the 
lodge of Sanutee — thou, the accursed — the — " and the 
words stuck in her throat, and, unarticulated, came forth 

" Is Matiwan mad — has the fever-pain gone into her 
temples ?" he asked in astonishment. 

" No, no, no— not mad, Occonestoga. But thou art 
cast out from the Yemassee. He does not know thee 
— the young warriors know thee not — the chiefs know 
thee not — Manneyto denies thee. They have said — 
thou art a Yemassee no longer. They have cast thee 

"The Yemassee is great, but he cannot deny Occo- 
nesto?a. Thou art mad, Matiwan. Look, woman, here 


is the broad arrow of Yemassee upon the shouldei of 
a chief." 

" It is gone — it is gone from thee, Occonestoga. 
They have sworn by Opitchi-Manneyto, that Malatchie, 
the Clublifter, shall take it from thy shoulder." 

The youth shrunk back, and his eyes started in 
horror, while his limbs trembled with a sentiment of 
fear not often felt by an Indian warrior. In another 
instant, however, he recovered from the stupor if not 
from the dread, which her intelligence occasioned. 

" Ha, Matiwan, thou hast no fork in thy tongue. 
Thou speakest not to me with the voice of the Coonee- 

" Opitchi-Manneyto ! — he hears the voice of Matiwan. 
The Yemassee has doomed thee." 

" They dare not — they will not. I will go with them 
upon the war-path against the Santee and the Seratee. 
I will take up the hatchet against the English. I will 
lead the young warriors to battle. They shall know 
Occonestoga for a chief." 

" Thou canst not, boy. They do not trust thee — 
they have, doomed thee with the chiefs who sold the 
land to the English. Has not Malatchie cut with 
the knife, and burnt away with fire from their shoulders 
the sacred and broad arrow of Yemassee, so that we 
know them no more? — Their fathers and their sons know 
them no more — the mothers that bore them know them 
no more — the other nations know them no more — they 
cannot enter the blessed valley of Manneyto, for Man- 
neyto knows them not when he looks for the broad 
arrow of Yemassee, and finds it not upon their shoul- 

" Woman ! thou liest ! — thou art hissing lies in my 
ears, like a green snake, with thy forked tongue. The 
Yemassee has not done this thing as thou say'st." 

The voice of the woman sunk into a low and husky 
murmur, and the always melancholy tones of their 
language grew doubly so in her utterance, as she 
replied in a stern rebuke, though her attitude and man- 
ner were entirely passionless : — 


" When has Matiwan lied to Occonestoga ? Occo- 
nestoga is a dog when he speaks of Matiwan as the 
forked tongue." 

" He is a dog if thou hast not lied, Matiwan. Say- 
that thou hast lied — that thou hast said a foolish thing 
to Occonestoga. Say, Matiwan, and the young arrow 
will be in thy hand even as the long shoots of the tree 
that weeps. Thou shalt be to him as thou wilt." 

With an expression the most humbled and imploring, 
and something more of warmth than is usually shown 
by the Indian warrior, the young chief took the hand 
of his mother, while uttering an appeal, virtually apolo- 
gizing for the harsh language he had previously made 
use of. With the pause of an instant, and a passionate 
melancholy, almost amounting to the vehemence of 
despair, she replied : — 

" Matiwan does not lie. The Yemassee has said 
the doom, which Enoree-Mattee, the prophet, brought 
from Opitchi-Manneyto. Has not Malatchie cut from 
the shoulders of the chiefs and burnt away with fire 
the broad arrow, and never more may they be known 
by the Yemassee — never more by the Manneyto ! The 
doom is for thee, Occonestoga. It is true. There is 
no fork in the tongue of Matiwan. Fly. boy — fly, Oc- 
conestoga. It is thy mother, it is Matiwan that prays 
thee to fly. Matiwan would not lose thee, Occonestoga, 
from the happy valley. Be the swift arrow on the path 
of flight — let them not see thee — let them not give thee 
to Malatchie." 

Thus, passionately imploring him, the mother urged 
upon him the necessity of flight. But, for a few 
minutes, as if stunned by the intelligence which he 
could not now disbelieve, the young warrior stood in 
silence, with down-bending head, the very personifica 
tion of despair. Then, quickly and fully recovering, 
with a kindling eye, and a manner well corresponding 
with his language, he started forward erect, in his 
fullest height, and with the action of a strong mood 
for a moment assumed the attitude of that true dignity 
from which in his latter days and habits he had but too 
much and too often departed. 


" Ha ! Is Occonestoga an arrow that is broken ? 
Is he the old tree across the swamp that the dog's foot 
runs over? Has he no strength — has the blood gone 
out of his heart ? Has he no knife — where are the arrow 
and the tomahawk? They are here — I have them. 
The Yemassee shall not hold me down when I sleep. 
Occonestoga sleeps not. He will do battle against the 
Yemassee. His knife shall strike at the breast of 

" Thou hast said a folly, boy — Occonestoga, wouldst 
thou strike at thy father ?" said the mother, sternly. 

" His hatchet shook over the head of Occonestoga 
in the lodge of council. He is the enemy of Occo- 
nestoga — a bad thorn in the path, ready for the foot that 
flies. I will slay him like a dog. He shall hear the 
scalp-song of Occonestoga — I will sing it in his ears, 
woman, like a bird that comes with the storm, while I 
send the long knife into his heart ;" and fiercely, as he 
concluded this speech, he chanted a passage of the 
famous scalp-song of the Yemassee — 

" I go with the long knife, 
On the path of my enemy — 
Tn the cover of the brake, 
With the tooth of the war-rattle, 
I strike the death into his heel — 
Sangarrah-me, Sangarrah-me. 
I hear him groan, I see him gasp, 
I tear his throat, I drink his blood, 
He sings the song of his dying, 
To the glory of Occonestoga." 

"Ha! thou hearest, Matiwan — this will I sing for 
Sanutee when my knee is upon his breast, when my 
knife is thick in his iieart, when I tear the thin scalp 
from his forehead." 

Thus, in a deep, fiercely impressive, but low tone, 
Occonestoga poured forth in his mother's ears the 
fulness of his paroxysm, — in his madness attributing, 
and with correctness, the doom which had been pro- 
nounced against him as coming from his father. In 
that fierce and bitter moment he forgot all the ties of 
consanguinity, and his look was that of the furious and 


fearful savage, already imbruing his hands in parental 
blood, which, in his scalp-song, we have heard him 
describe. The horror of Matiwan, beyond expression, 
could not, however, be kept from utterance : — 

; ' Thou hast drunk madness, boy, from the cup of 
Opitchi-Manneyto. The devil of 'the white man's 
prophet has gone into thy heart. Rut thou art the 
child of Matiwan, and, though thou art in a foolish path, 
it is thy mother that would save thee. Go — fly, Occo- 
nestoga — keep on thy shoulder the broad arrow of 
Yemassee, so that thy mother may not lose thee from 
the blessed valley of Manneyto." 

Before the young warrior, somewhat softened by 
ihis speech, could find words to reply to it, his acute 
Sense — acute enough at all times to savour of a super- 
natural faculty — detected an approaching sound ; and, 
lirough an opening of the logs in the dwelling, the flare 
of a torch was seen approaching. Matiwan, much 
more apprehensive, with her anxieties now turned in 
a new direction, went quickly to the entrance, and 
returning instantly, with great alarm, announced the 
approach of Sanutee. 

" He comes to the hatchet of Occonestoga," cried 
the youth fiercely, his recent rage re-awakening. 

" Wouldst thou slay Matiwan ?" was the reply, — and 
the look, the tone, the words, were sufficient. The 
fierce spirit was quelled, and the youth suffered himself 
to follow quietly as she directed. She led him to a 
remote corner of the lodge, which, piled up with skins, 
furnished a fair chance and promise of security. With 
several of these, as he stretched himself at his length, 
she contrived to cover him in such a manner as effec- 
tually to conceal him from the casual observer. Having 
so done, she strove to resume her composure in time 
for the reception of the old chief, whose torch now 
blazed at the entrance. 



" They bind him, will they slay him? That old man, 
His father, will he look upon and see 
The danger of his child, nor lift his voice, 
Nor lend his arm to save him ?" 

With a mind deeply taken up with the concerns of 
state, Sanutee threw himself upon the bearskin which 
formed a sort of carpet in the middle of the lodge, and 
failed utterly to remark the discomposure of Matiwan, 
which, otherwise, to the keen glance of the Indian, 
would" not have remained very long concealed. She 
took her seat at his head, and croned low and musingly 
some familiar chant of forest song, unobtrusively, yet 
meant to sooth his ear. He heard — for this had long 
been a practice with her and a domestic indulgence 
w;th him — he heard, but did not seem to listen. His 
mmd was away — busied in the events of the wild 
storm it had invoked, and the period of which was 
rapidly approaching. But there were other matters 
less important, that called for present attention ; and 
turning at length to his wife, and pointing at the same 
time to the pile of skins that lay confusedly huddled 
up over the crouching form of Occonestoga, he gently 
remarked upon their loose and disordered appearance. 
The well-bred housewife of a city might have discov- 
ered something of rebuke to her domestic management 
in what he said on this subject ; but the mind of 
Matiwan lost all sight of the reproach, in the appre- 
hensions which such a reference had excited. He 
saw not her disorder, however, but proceeded to enu- 
merate to himself their numbers, sorts, and qualities, 
with a simple air of business ; until, suddenly labour- 
ing, as it appeared, under some deficiency of memory, 
he instructed her to go and ascertain the number of 
bearskins in the collection. 


" The Spanish trader will buy from Sanutee with 
the next sun. Go, Matiwan." 

To hear was to obey ; and half dead with fear, yet 
rejoiced that he had not gone himself, she proceeded 
to tumble about the skins, with ready compliance, and 
an air of industry, the most praiseworthy in an Indian 
woman. Her labour was lengthened, so Sanutee 
seemed to think, somewhat beyond the time necessary 
to enumerate a lot of skins not exceeding fifteen or 
twenty in number, and with some little sternness at 
last he demanded of her the cause of the delay. 
Apprehensive that he would yet rise, and seek for 
himself a solution of the difficulty, she determined, 
as she had not yet ascertained, to guess at the fact, 
and immediately replied in a representation which did 
not at all accord with the calculation of the chiefs 
own memory on the subject. The impatience of 
Occonestoga, in the meantime, was not less than that 
of Sanutee. He worried his mother fcot a little in his 
restlessness while she moved about him ; and once as 
she bent over him, removing this, and replacing that, he 
seized upon her hand, and would have spoken, but that 
so dangerous an experiment she would not permit. But 
she saw by his glance, and the settled firmness with 
which he grasped his hatchet, that his thought was 
that of defiance to his father and a desire to throw 
aside his restraining cover and assert his manhood. 
She drew away from him rapidly, with a finger 
uplifted as if in entreaty, while with one hand she 
threw over him a huge bearskin, which nearly suffo- 
cated him, and which he immediately, in part, threw 
aside. Sanutee in the meantime seemed very im- 
perfectly satisfied with the representation which she 
had made, and manifesting some doubt as to the cor- 
rectness of her estimate, he was about to rise and look 
for himself into the matter. But, in some trepidation, 
the wary Matiwan prevented him. 

" Wherefore should the chief toil at the task of a 
woman? Battle for the chief — wisdom in council 
for the chief; and the seat under the big tree, at the 


head of the lodge, when the great chiefs come to eat 
meat from his hands. Sit, well-beloved — wherefore 
should not Matiwan look for thee ? The toil of the 
lodge is for Matiwan." 

" Sanutee will look, Matiwan — the bearskin is 
heavy on thy hands," was the considerate reply. 

" Go not, look not — " impatiently, rather too impa- 
tiently earnest, was the response of the woman ; suffi- 
ciently so. to awaken surprise, if not suspicion, in the 
mind of the old chief. She saw her error in the next 
instant, and, proceeding to correct it, without at the 
same time yielding up the point, she said : 

" Thou art weary, chief — all day long thou hast 
been upon the track of toil, and thy feet need rest. 
Rest thee. — Matiwan is here — why shouldst thou not 
repose? Will she not look to the skins? She goes." 

" Thou art good, Matiwan, but Sanutee will look 
with the eye that is true. He is not weary as thou 
say'st. Cha !" he exclaimed, as she still endeavoured 
to prevent him — " Cha ! — Cha !" impatiently putting 
her aside with the exclamation, and turning to the very 
spot of Occonestoga's concealment. Hopeless of 
escape, Matiwan clasped her hands together, and the 
beatings of her heart grew more frequent and painful. 
Already his hands were upon the skins, — already had 
Occonestoga determined upon throwing aside his cov- 
ering and grappling with his fate like a warrior, when 
a sudden yell of many voices, and the exciting blood- 
cry of Yemassee battle, " Sangarrah-me, Sangarrah- 
me," — rung through the little apartment. Lights flared 
all around the lodge, and a confused, wild, and ap- 
proaching clamour, as of many voices, from without, 
drew the attention of all within, and diverted Sanutee 
from a further search at that time, which must have 
resulted in a denouement severely trying if not danger- 
ous to all parties. 

" Sangarrah-me — he is here — the slave of Opitchi- 
Manneyto is here." 

And a general howl, with a direct appeal to Sanutee, 
brought the old chief to the door of the lodge. Before 


he could propose an inquiry into their business and 
desire, they poured that information upon him which 
shook and startled him. The indiscretion of Occo- 
nestoga when speaking in the ear of the Indian maiden 
Hiwassee, had brought about its legitimate consequen- 
ces. In her surprise, and accounting for the shriek 
she gave, she had revealed the circumstance to her 
lover, and it was not long before he had again related 
it to another. The story flew, the crowd increased, 
and, gathering excitement from numbers, they rushed 
forward to the lodge of Matiwan, where, from his known 
love to his mother, they thought it probable he would be 
found, to claim the doomed slave of Opitchi-Manneyto. 
The old chief heard them with a stern and motionless 
calm of countenance ; then, without an instant of re- 
flection, throwing open the door of the lodge, he bade 
them enter upon the search for their victim. 

The clamour and its occasion, in the meantime, had 
been made sufficiently and fearfully intelligible to those 
within. Matiwan sunk down hopelessly and sad in 
a corner of the apartment, while Occonestoga, with 
a rapid recovery of all his energies, throwing aside 
his covering of skins, and rising from his place of 
concealment, stood once again an upright and fearless 
Indian warrior. He freed the knife from its sheath, 
tightened the belt about his waist, grasped the toma- 
hawk in his right hand, and placing himself conspicu- 
ously in the centre of the apartment, prepared manfully 
for the worst. 

Such was his position, when, leading the way for the 
pursuers of the fugitive, Sanutee re-entered the cabin. 
A moment's glance sufficed to show him the truth of 
the statement made him, and at the same time ac- 
counted for the uneasiness of Matiwan, and her desire 
to prevent his examination of the skins. He darted a 
severe look upon her where she lay in the corner, and 
as the glance met her own, she crept silently towards 
him and would have clasped his knees ; but. the ire of 
Sanutee was too deeply awakened, and regarding his 
profligate son, not merely in that character, but as the 
I. 18 

206 THE YEMASSSl!;. 

chief enemy and betrayer of his country to the . Eng- 
lish, he Airew her aside, then approached and stretched 
forth his arm as if to secure him. But Occonestoga 
stood on the defensive, and with a skill and power, 
which, at one time, had procured for him a high 
reputation for warrior-like conduct, in a field where 
the competitors were numerous, he hurled backward 
the old chief upon the crowd that followed him. Doubly 
incensed at the resistance thus offered, Sanutee re- 
advanced with a degree of anger which excluded the 
cautious consideration of the true warrior, — and as the 
approach was narrow, he re -advanced unsupported. 
The recollection of the terrible doom impending over 
his head — the knowledge of Sanutee's own share in 
its decree — the stern denunciations of his father in his 
own ears, — the fierce feeling of degraded pride con- 
sequent upon his recent and present mode of life, and 
the desperate mood induced by his complete isolation 
from all the sympathies of his people, evinced by their 
vindictive pursuit of him, — all conspired to make him 
the wreckless wretch who would rather seek than shrink 
from the contemplated parricide. His determination 
was thick in the glance of his eye; and while he threw 
back the tomahawk, so that the sharp pick on the 
opposite end rested upon his right shoulder, and its 
edge lay alongside his cheek, he muttered between 
his firmly set teeth, fragments of the fearful scalp-song 
which he had sung in his mother's ear before. 

" Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me, 
I hear him groan, I see him gasp, 
I tear his throat, I drink his blood — 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me." 

This did not discourage the old chief, though the 
son, with a desperate strength, while singing the fierce 
anthem, grappled his father by the throat, and cried 
aloud to him, as he shook the hatchet in his eyes — 

" I hear thee groan — I see thee gasp — I tear thy 
throat — I drink thy blood ; for I know thee as mine 
enemy Thou art not Sanutee — thou art not the 
father of Occonestoga — but a black dog, sent on his 


path to tear. Die, thou dog — thou black dog — die — 
thus I slay thee — thus I slay thee, thou enemy of Oc- 

And handling the old man with a strength beyond 
his power to contend with, he aimed the deadly stroke 
directly at the eyes of his father. But the song and 
the speech had aroused the yet conscious but. suffering 
Matiwan, and starting up from the ground where she 
had been lying, almost between the feet of the com- 
batants, with uplifted hands she interposed, just as the 
fell direction had been given to the weapon of her 
son. The piercing shriek of that fondly cherishing 
mother went to the very bones of the young warrior. 
Her interposition had the effect of a spell upon him, par- 
ticularly as, at the moment — so timely for Sanutee 
had been her interposition — he who gave the blow 
could with difficulty arrest the impulse with which it 
had been given, and which must have made it a blow 
fatal to her. The narrow escape which she had made, 
sent through the youth an unnerving chill and shudder. 
The deadly instrument fell from his hand, and now 
rushing upon him, the crowd drew him to the ground, 
and taking from him every other weapon, pinioned his 
arms closely behind him. He turned away with 
something of horror in his countenance as he met the 
second gaze of his father, and his eyes rested with a 
painful solicitude upon the wo-begone visage of 
Matiwan, who had, after her late effort, again sunk 
down at the feet of Sanutee. He looked fondly, but 
sadly upon her, and with a single sentence addressed 
to her, he offered no obstacle while his captors led 
him away. 

" Matiwan — " said he, — " thou hast bound Occones- 
toga for his enemies. Thou hast given him to Opitchi- 

The woman heard no more, but as they bore him 
off, she sunk down in momentary insensibility upon 
tfie spot where she had lain through the greater part 
}f the recent controversy. Sanutee, meanwhile, with 
much of the character of ancient Roman patriotism 


went forth with the rest, on their way to the council ; 
one of the judges — indeed, the chief arbiter upon 
the destinies of his son. 


" The pain of death is nothing. To the chief, 
The forest warrior, it is good to die — 
To die as he has lived, battling and hoarse, 
Shouting a song of triumph. But to live 
Under such doom as this, were far beyond 
Even his stoic, cold philosophy." 

It was a gloomy amphitheatre in the deep forests 
to which the assembled multitude bore the unfortunate 
Occonestoga. The whole scene was unique in that 
solemn grandeur, that sombre hue, that deep spiritual 
repose, in which the human imagination delights to 
invest a scene that has been rendered remarkable 
for the deed of punishment or crime. A small swamp 
or morass hung upon one of its skirts, from the rank 
bosom of which, in numberless millions, the flickering 
fire-fly perpetually darted upwards, giving a brilliance 
of animation to the spot, which, at that moment, no 
assemblage of light or life could possibly enliven. 
The ancient oak, a bearded Druid, was there to con- 
tribute to the due solemnity of all associations — the 
gnarled and stunted hickory, the ghostly cedar, and 
here and there the overgrown pine, — all rose up in 
their primitive strength, and with an undergrowth 
around them of shrub and flower, that scarcely at any 
time in that sheltered and congenial habitation had 
found it necessary to shrink from winter. In the centre 
of the area thus invested, rose a high and venerable 
mound, the tumulus of many preceding ages, from the 
washed sides of which might now and then be seen 
protruding the bleached bones of some ancient warrior 
or sage. A circle of trees, at a little distance, hedged 


it in, — made secure and sacred by the performance 
there of many of their religious rites and offices, — 
themselves, as they bore the broad arrow of the Ye- 
massee, being free from all danger of overthrow or 
desecration by Indian hands. 

Amid the confused cries of the multitude, they 
bore the captive to the foot of the tumulus, and bound 
him backward, half reclining upon a tree. An hundred 
warriors stood around, armed according to the manner 
of the nation, each with tomahawk, and knife, and bow. 
They stood up as for battle, but spectators simply, and 
taking no part in the proceeding. In a wider and 
denser circle, gathered hundreds more — not the war- 
riors, but the people — the old, the young, the women 
and the children, all fiercely excited and anxious to see 
and take part in a ceremony, so awfully exciting to an 
Indian imagination ; conferring, as it did, not only the 
perpetual loss of human caste and national considera- 
tion, but the eternal doom, the degradation, the denial of, 
and the exile from, their simple forest heaven. Inter- 
spersed with this latter crowd, seemingly at regular 
intervals, and with an allotted labour, came a number of 
old women, not unmeet representatives, individually, 
for either of the weird sisters of the Scottish Thane, 

" So withered and so wild in their attire — " 

and, regarding their cries and actions, of whom we may 
safely affirm, that they looked like any thing but inhab- 
itants of earth ! In their hands they bore, each of 
them, a flaming torch, of the rich and gummy pine ; 
and these they waved over the heads of the multitude 
in a thousand various evolutions, accompanying each 
movement with a fearful cry, which, at regular periods, 
was chorused by the assembled mass. A bugle,— a 
native instrument of sound, five feet or more in length, 
hollowed out from the commonest timber, the cracks 
and breaks of which were carefully sealed up with the 
resinous gum oozing from their burning torches, and 
which, to this day, borrowed from the natives, our 
negroes employ on the southern waters with a peculiar 


compass and variety of note — gave forth at intervals, 
timed with much regularity, a long, protracted, single 
blast, adding greatly to the solemnity of a scene, one 
of the most imposing among their customs. At the 
articulation of these sounds, the circles continued to 
contract, though slowly ; until, at length, but a brief 
space lay between the armed warriors, the* crowd, and 
the unhappy victim. 

The night grew dark of a sudden, and the sky was 
obscured by one of the brief tempests that usually usher 
in the summer, and mark the transition, in the south, of 
one season to another. A wild gust rushed along the 
wood. The leaves were whirled over the heads of the 
assemblage, and the trees bent, downward, until they 
cracked and groaned again beneath the wind. A feeling 
of natural superstition crossed the minds of the multi- 
tude, as the hurricane, though common enough in that 
region, passed hurriedly along ; and a spontaneous and 
universal chorus of prayer rose from their lips, in their 
own wild and emphatic language, to the evil deity whose 
presence they beheld in its progress. — 

" Thy wing, Opitchi-Manneyto, 
It o'erthrows the tall trees — 
Thy breath, Opitchi-Manneyto, 
Makes the waters tremble — 
Thou art in the hurricane, 
When the wigwam tumbles — 
Thou art in the arrow-fire, 
When the pine is shiver'd— 
But upon the Yemassee, 
Be thy coming gentle — 
Are they not thy well-beloved ? 
Bring they not a slave to thee '< 
Look ! the slave is bound for thee, 
'Tis the Yemassee that brings him. 
Pass, Opitchi-Manneyto — 
Pass, black spirit, pass from us — 
Be thy passage gentle." 

And, as the uncouth strain rose at the conclusion into 
a diapason of unanimous and contending voices, of old 
and young, male and female, the brief summer tempest 
had gone by. A shout of self-gratulation, joined with 
warm acknowledgments, testified the popular sense 


and confidence in that especial Providence, which even 
the most barbarous nations claim as for ever working 
in their behalf. 

At this moment, surrounded by the chiefs and pre- 
ceded by the great prophet or high-priest, Enoree- 
Mattee, came Sanutee, the well-beloved of the Yemas- 
see, to preside over the destinies of his son. There 
was a due and becoming solemnity, but nothing of the 
peculiar feelings of the father, visible in his counte- 
nance. Blocks of trees were placed around as seats 
for the chiefs, but Sanutee and the prophet threw 
themselves, with more of imposing veneration in the 
proceeding, upon the edge of the tumulus, just where 
an overcharged spot, bulging out with the crowding 
bones of its inmates, had formed an elevation answering 
such a purpose. They sat directly looking upon the 
prisoner, who reclined, bound securely upon his back 
to a decapitated tree, at a little distance before them. 
A signal having been given, the women ceased their 
shoutings, and approaching him, they waved theii 
torches so closely above his head as to make all his 
features distinctly visible to that now watchful and 
silent multitude. He bore the examination with a stern, 
unmoved cast of expression, which the sculptor of 
marble might well have desired for his block. While 
the torches waved, one of the women now cried aloud, 
in a barbarous chant, above him — 

■" Is not this a Yemassee ? 
Wherefore is he bound thus — 
Wherefore, with the broad arrow 
On his right arm growing, 
Wherefore is he bound thus — 
Is not this a Yemassee V 

A second woman now approached him, waving her 
torch in like manner, seeming closely to inspect his 
features, and actually passing ner fingers over the 
emblem upon his shoulder, as if to ascertain more cer- 
tainly the truth of the image. Having done this, she 
turned about to the crowd, and in the same barbarous 
sort of strain with the preceding, replied as follows : — 


" It is not the Yemassee, 
But a dog that runs off. 
From his right arm take the arrow, 
He is not the Yemassee." 

As these words were uttered, the crowd of women and 
children around cried out for the execution 01 the 
judgment thus given, and once again flamed the torches 
wildly, and the shoutings were general among the 
multitude. When they had subsided, a huge Indian 
came forward directly before the prisoner — smeared 
with blood and covered with scalps which, connected 
together by slight strings, formed a loose robe over his 
shoulders. In one hand he carried a torch, in the 
other a knife. This was Malatchie, the executioner 
of the nation. He came forward, under the instructions 
of Enoree-Mattee, the prophet, to claim the slave of 
Opitchi-Manneyto, — that is, in our language, the slave 
of hell. This he did in the following strain : — 

" 'Tis Opitchi-Manneyto 
In Malatchie's ear that cries, 
That is not the Yemassee — 
And the woman's word is true — > 
He's a dog that should be mine, 
I have hunted for him long. 
a :From his master he hath run, 
With the stranger made his home, 
Now I have him, he is mine- 
That Opitchi-Manneyto." 

And, as the besmeared and malignant executioner 
howled his fierce demand in the very ears of his vic- 
tim, he hurled the knife which he carried, upwards, 
with such dexterity into the air, that it rested, point 
downward, and sticking fast on its descent, into the 
tree and just above the head of the doomed Occones- 
toga. "With his hand, at the next instant, he laid a 
resolute gripe upon the shoulder of the victim, as if to 
confirm and strengthen his claim by actual possession ; 
while, at the same time, with a sort of malignant 
oleasure, he thrust his besmeared and distorted visage 
close into that of his prisoner. Writhing against the 
ligaments which bound him fast, Qcconestoga strove 


to turn his head aside from the disgusting and obtrusive 
presence ; and the desperation of his effort, but that 
he had been too carefully secured, might have resulted 
in the release of some of his limbs ; for the breast heaved 
and laboured, and every muscle of his arms and legs 
was wrought, by his severe action, into a rope, hard, 
full, and indicative of prodigious strength. 

There was one person in that crowd who sympa- 
thized with the victim ; and this was Hiwassee, the 
maiden in whose ears he had uttered a word, which, in 
her thoughtless scream and declaration of the event, 
for she had identiried him, had been the occasion which 
led to his captivity. Something of self-reproach for 
her share in his misfortune, and an old feeling of regard 
for Occonestoga, who had once been a favourite with the 
young of both sexes among his people, was at work in 
her bosom; and, turning to Echotee, her newly-accept- 
ed lover, as soon as the demand of Malatchie had been 
heard, she prayed him to resist the demand. In such 
cases, all that a warrior had to do was simply to join 
issue upon the claim, and the popular will then deter- 
mined the question. Echotee could not resist an 
application so put to him, and by one who had just 
listened to a prayer of his own, so all-important to his 
own happiness ; and being himself a noble youth, one 
who had been a rival of the captive in his better days, 
a feeling of generosity combined with the request of 
Hiwassee, and he boldly leaped forward. Seizing 
the knife of Malatchie, which stuck in the tree, he 
drew it forth and threw it upon the ground, thus 
removing the sign of property which the executioner 
had put up in behalf of the evil deity. 

" Occonestoga is the brave of Yemassee," exclaimed 
the young Echotee, while the eyes of the captive looked 
what his lips could not have said. " Occonestoga is 
a brave of Yemassee — he is no dog of Malatchie. 
Wherefore is the cord upon the limbs of a free war- 
rior ? Is not Occonestoga a free warrior of Yemassee ? 
The eyes of Echotee have looked upon a warrior like 
Occonestoga, when he took many scalps. Did not 


Occonestoga lead the Yemassee against the Savan- 
nahs ? The eyes of Echotee saw him slay the red- 
eyed Suwannee, the great chief of the Savannahs. Did 
not Occonestoga go on the war-path with our young 
braves against the Edistoes, the brown-foxes that came 
out of the swamp 1 The eyes of Echotee beheld him. 
Occonestoga is a brave, and a hunter of Yemassee — 
he is not the dog of Malatchie. He knows not fear. 
He hath an arrow with wings, and the panther he runs 
down in chase. His tread is the tread of a sly serpent 
that comes, so that he hears him not, upon the track of 
the red deer, feeding down in the valley. Echotee 
knows the warrior — Echotee knows the hunter — he 
knows Occonestoga, but he knows no dog of Opitchi- 

" He hath drunk of the poison drink of the pale-faces 
• — his feet are gone from the good path of the Ye- 
massee — he would sell his people to the English for 
a painted bird. He is the slave of Opitchi-Manneyto," 
cried Malatchie, in reply. Echotee was not satisfied 
to yield the point so soon, and he responded accordingly. 

" It is true. The feet of the young warrior have 
gone away from the good paths of the Yemassee, but 
I see not the weakness of the chief, when my eye 
looks back upon the great deeds of the warrior. I 
see nothing but the shrinking body of Suwannee under 
the knee, under the knife of the Yemassee. I hear 
nothing but the war-whoop of the Yemassee, when 
we broke through the camp of the brown-foxes, and 
scalped them where they skulked in the swamp. I 
see this Yemassee strike the foe and take the scalp, 
and I know Occonestoga — Occonestoga, the son of the 
well-beloved — the great chief of the Yemassee." 

" It is good — Occonestoga has thanks for Echotee — 
Echotee is a brave warrior !" murmured the captive to 
his champion, in tones of melancholy acknowledg- 
ment. The current of public feeling began to set 
strongly towards an expression of sympathy in behalf 
of the victim, and an occasional whisper to that 
effect might be heard here and there among the mul- 


litude. Even Malatchie himself looked for a moment 
as if he thought it not improbable that he might be 
defrauded of his prey ; and, while a free shout from 
many attested the compliment which all were willing 
to pay Echotee for his magnanimous defence of one, 
who had once been a successful rival in the general 
estimation, the executioner turned to the prophet and 
to Sanutee, as if doubtful whether or not to proceed 
farther in his claim. Bat all doubt was soon quieted, 
as the stern father rose before the assembly. Every 
sound was stilled in expectation of his words on so 
momentous an occasion. They waited not long. 
The old man had tasked all the energies of the 
patriot, not less than of the stoic, and having once 
determined upon the necessity of the sacrifice, he had 
no hesitating fears or scruples palsying his determi- 
nation. He seemed not to regard the imploring glance 
of his son, seen and felt by all besides in the assem- 
bly ; but with a voice entirely unaffected by the cir- 
cumstances of his position, he spoke forth the doom 
in confirmation with that originally expressed. 

" Echotee has spoken like a brave warrior with a 
tongue of truth, and a soul that has birth with the sun. 
But he speaks out of his own heart — and does not 
speak to the heart of the traitor. The Yemassee will 
all say for Echotee, but who can say for Occonestoga 
when Sanutee himself is silent ? Does the Yemassee 
speak with a double tongue ? Did not the Yemassee 
promise Occonestoga to Opitchi-Manneyto with the 
other chiefs? Where are they? They are gone into the 
swamp, where the sun shines not, and the eyes of 
Opitchi-Manneyto are upon them. He. knows them 
for his slaves. The arrow is gone from their shoul- 
ders, and the Yemassee knows them no longer. Shall 
the dog escape, who led the way to the English — who 
brought the poison drink to the chiefs, which made 
them dogs to the English and slaves to Opitchi-Man- 
neyto ? Shall he escape the doom the Yemassee 
hath put upon them ? Sanutee speaks the voice of 
the Manneyto. Occonestoga is a dog, who would sell 


his father — who would make us women to carry water 
for the pale-faces. He is not the son of Sanutee — 
Sanutee knows him no more. 'Look, — Yemassees — 
the well-beloved has spoken !". 

He paused, and turning away, sunk down silently 
upon the little bank on which he had before rested ; 
while Malatchie, without further opposition — for the 
renunciation of his own son by one so highly esteemed 
as Sanutee, was conclusive against the youth — ad- 
vanced to execute the terrible judgment upon his victim. 

" Oh ! father, chief, Sanutee" — burst convulsively 
from the lips of the prisoner — " hear me, father — Oc- 
conestoga will go on the war-path with thee, and with 
the Yemassee — against the Edisto, against the Span- 
iard — hear, Sanutee — he will go with thee against the 
English." — But the old man bent not — yielded not, and 
the crowd gathered nigher. 

" Wilt thou have no ear, Sanutee ? — it is Occones- 
toga — it is the son of Matiwan that speaks to thee." 
Sanutee's head sunk as the' reference was made to 
Matiwan, but he showed no other sign of emotion. 
He moved not — he spoke not, and bitterly and hope- 
lessly the youth exclaimed — 

" Oh ! thou art colder than the stone-house of the 
adder — and deafer than his ears. Father, Sanutee, 
wherefore wilt thou lose me, even as the tree its leaf, 
when the storm smites it in summer ? Save me, — 

And his head sunk in despair, as he beheld the un- 
changing look of stern resolve with which the un- 
bending sire regarded him. For a moment he was 
unmanned ; until a loud shout of derision from the 
crowd, regarding his weakness, came to the support of 
his pride. The -Indian shrinks from humiliation, 
where he would not shrink from death ; and, as the 
shout reached his ears, he shouted back his defiance, 
raised his head loftily in air, and with the most perfect 
composure, commenced singing his song of death, the 
song of many victories. 

" Wherefore sings he his death-song ?" was the 
general inquiry, " he is not to die !" 


" Thou art the slave of Opitchi-Manneyto," cried 
Malatchie to the captive — " thou shalt sing no lie of 
thy victories in the ear of Yemassee. The slave of 
Opitchi-Manneyto has no triumph" — and the words of 
the song were effectually drowned, if not silenced, in 
the tremendous clamour .which they raised about him. 
It was then that Malatchie claimed his victim — the 
doom had been already given, but the ceremony of 
expatriation and outlawry was yet to follow, and under 
the direction of the prophet, the various castes and 
classes of the nation prepared to take a final leave of 
one who could no longer be known among them. 
First of all came a band of young, marriageable 
women, who, wheeling in a circle three times about 
him, sung together a wild apostrophe containing a 
bitter farewell, which nothing in our language could 
perfectly imbody. 

" Go, — thou hast no wife in Yemassee — thou hast 
given no lodge to the daughter of Yemassee — thou hast 
slain no meat for thy children. Thou hast no name — 
(he women of Yemassee know thee no more. They 
know thee no more." 

And the final sentence was reverberated from the 
entire assembly — 

" They know thee no more — they know thee no 

Then came a number of the ancient men — the patri- 
archs of the nation, who surrounded him in circular 
mazes three several times, singing as they did so a 
hymn of like import. 

" Go — thou sittest not in the council of Yemassee — 
thou shalt not speak wisdom to the boy that comes. 
Thou hast no name in Yemassee — the fathers of 
Yemassee, they know thee no more." 

And again the whole assembly cried out, as with 
one voice — " they know thee no more, they know thee 
no more." 

These were followed by the young warriors, his old 
associates, who now, in a solemn band, approached 
him to go through a like performance. His eyes sunk 

Vol. I. 19 


gloomily as they came — his blood was chilled to his 
heart, and the articulated farewell of their wild chant 
failed seemingly to reach his ear. Nothing but the 
last sentence he heard — 

" Thou that wast a brother, 
Thou art nothing now — 
The young warriors of Yemassee, 
They know thee no more." 

And the crowd cried with them — " they know thee 
no more." 

" Is no hatchet sharp for Occonestoga V — moaned 
forth the suffering savage. But his trials were only then 
begun. Enoree-Mattee now approached him with the 
words, with which, as the representative of the good 
Manneyto, he renounced him, — with which he denied 
him access to the Indian heaven, and left him a slave 
and an outcast, a miserable wanderer amid the shadows 
and the swamps, and liable to all the dooms and 
terrors which come with the service of Opitchi-Man- 

" Thou wast the child of Manneyto" — 

sung the high-priest in a solemn chant, and with a 
deep-toned voice that thrilled strangely amid the silence 
of the scene. 

" Thou wast a child of Manneyto, 
He gave thee arrows and an eye, — 
Thou wast the strong son of Manneyto, 
He gave thee feathers and a wing — 
Thou wast a young brave of Manneyto, 
He gave thee scalps and a war-song — 
But he knows thee no more — he knows thee no more." 

And the clustering multitude again gave back the last 
line in wild chorus. The prophet continued his chant: 

" That Opitchi-Manneyto claims thee, 
He commands thee for his slave — 
And the Yemassee must hear him, 
Hear, and give thee for his slave — 
They will take from thee the arrow, 
The broad arrow of thy people — 
Thou shalt see no blessed valley, 
Where the plum-groves always bloom — 
Thou shalt hear no song of valour, 
From the old time Yemassee — 


Father, mother, name, and people, 
Thou shalt lose with that broad arrow, 
Thou art lost to the Manneyto — 
He knows thee no more, he knows thee no more." 

The despair of hell was in the face of the victim, 
and he howled forth, in a cry of agony, that for a 
moment silenced the wild chorus of the crowd around, 
the terrible consciousness in his mind of that privation 
which the doom entailed upon him. Every feature 
was convulsed with emotion — and the terrors of Opit- 
chi-Manneyto's dominion seemed already in strong 
exercise upon the muscles of his heart, when Sanutee, 
the father, silently approached, and with a pause of a 
few moments, stood gazing upon the son from whom 
he was to be separated eternally — whom not even the 
uniting, the restoring hand of death could possibly 
restore to him. And he — his once noble son — the 
pride of his heart, the gleam of his hope, the trium- 
phant warrior, who was even to increase his own 
glory, and transmit the endearing title of well-beloved, 
which the Yemassee had given him, to a succeeding 
generation. These promises were all blasted, and 
the father was now present to yield him up for ever — 
to deny him — to forfeit him, in fearful penalty, to the 
nation whose genius he had wronged, and whose rights 
he had violated. The old man stood for a moment, 
rather, we may suppose, for the recovery of resolution, 
than with any desire for his contemplation. The pride 
of the youth came back to him, — the pride of the 
strong mind in its desolation — as his eye caught the 
inflexible glance of his unswerving father; and he 
exclaimed bitterly and loud : — 

" Wherefore art thou come — thou hast been my foe, 
not my father — away — I would not behold thee !" and 
he closed his eyes after the speech, as if to relieve 
himself from a disgusting presence. 

" Thou hast said well, Occonestoga — Sanutee is thy 
foe — he is not thy father. To say this in thy ears 
has he come. Look on him, Occonestoga — look up, 
and hear thy doom. The young and the old of the 


Yemassee — the warrior and the chief,- — they have all 
forgotten thee. Occonestoga is no name for the 
Yemassee. The Yemassee gives it to his dog. The 
prophet of Manneyto has forgotten thee — thou art un- 
known to those who are thy people. And I, thy father 
— with this speech, I yield thee to Opitchi-Manneyto. 
Sanutee is no longer thy father — thy father knows thee 
no more" — and once more came to the ears of the 
victim that melancholy chorus of the multitude — 
" He knows thee no more — he knows thee no more." 
Sanutee turned quickly away as he had spoken, and, 
as if he suffered more than he was willing to show, 
the old man rapidly hastened to the little mound where 
he had been previously sitting — his eyes diverted from 
the further spectacle. Occonestoga, goaded to madness 
by these several incidents, shrieked forth the bitterest 
execrations, until Enoree-Mattee, preceding Malatchie, 
again approached. Having given some directions in 
an under-tone to the latter, he retired, leaving the 
executioner alone with his victim. Malatchie, then, 
while all was silence in the crowd — a thick silence, 
in which even respiration seemed to be suspended — 
proceeded to his duty ; and, lifting the feet of Occo- 
nestoga carefully from the ground, he placed a log 
under them — then addressing him, as he again bared 
his knife which he stuck in the tree above his head, 
he sung — 

" I take from thee the earth of Yemassee— 

I take from thee the water of Yemassee — 

I take from thee the arrow of Yemassee— 

Go — thou art no Yemassee, 

Yemassee knows thee no more." 

" Yemassee knows thee no more," cried the mul- 
titude, and their universal shout was deafening upon 
the ear. Occonestoga said no word now — he could 
offer no resistance to the unnerving hands of Malatchie, 
who now bared the arm more completely of its cover- 
ing. But his limbs Avere convulsed with the spasms 
of that dreadful terror of the future which was racking 
and raging in every nerve of his frame. The silence 
of all indicated the general anxiety ; and Malatchie 


prepared to seize the knife and perform the operation, 
when a confused murmur arose from the crowd around ; 
the mass gave way and parted, and, rushing wildly 
into the area, came Matiwan, his mother — the long 
black hair streaming — the features, an astonishing 
likeness to his own, convulsed like his ; and her action 
that of one reckless of all things in the way of the for- 
ward progress she was making to the person of her 
child. She cried aloud as she came — with a voice 
that rung like a sudden death-bell through the ring — 

" Would you keep the mother from her boy, and he 
to be lost to her for ever 1 Shall she have no parting 
with the young brave she bore in her bosom ? Away, 
keep me not back — I will look upon, I will love him. 
He shall have the blessing of Matiwan, though the 
Yemassee and the Manneyto curse." 

The victim heard, and a momentary renovation of 
mental life, perhaps a renovation of hope, spoke out 
in the simple exclamation which fell from his lips. 

" Oh, Matiwan — oh, mother." 

She rushed towards the spot where she heard his 
appeal, and thrusting the executioner aside, threw her 
arms desperately about his neck. 

" Touch him not, Matiwan," was the general cry 
from the crowd. — " Touch him not, Matiwan — Man- 
neyto knows him no more." 

" But Matiwan knows him — the mother knows hei 
child, though the Manneyto denies him. Oh, boy — 
oh, boy, boy, boy." And she sobbed like an infant on 
his neck. 

"Thou art come, Matiwan — thou art come, but where- 
fore 1 — to curse like the father — to curse like the 
Manneyto," mournfully said the captive. 

" No, no, no ! Not to curse — not to curse. When 
did mother curse the child she bore ? Not to curse, 
but to bless thee. — To bless thee and forgive." 

" Tear her away," cried the prophet ; " let Opitchi- 
Manneyto have his slave." 

" Tear her away, Malatchie," cried the crowd, impa- 
tient for the execution. Malatchie approached. 


" Not yet — not yet," appealed the woman. " Shall 
not the mother say farewell to the child she shall see 
no more V and she waved Malatchie hack, and in the 
next instant, drew hastily from the drapery of her dress 
a small hatchet, which she had there carefully con- 

"What wouldst thou do, Matiwan?" asked Occo- 
nestoga, as his eye caught the glare of the weapon. 

" Save thee, my boy — save thee for thy mother, 
Occonestoga — save thee for the happy valley." 

" Wouldst thou slay me, mother — Avouldst strike the 
heart of thy son ?" he asked, with a something of re- 
luctance to receive death from the hands of a parent. 

" I strike thee but to save thee, my son : — since they 
cannot take the totem from thee after the life is gone. 
Turn away from me thy head — let me not look upon 
thine eyes as I strike, lest my hands grow weak and 
tremble. Turn thine eyes away — I will not lose thee." 

His eyes closed, and the fatal instrument, lifted above 
her head, was now visible in the sight of all. The 
executioner rushed forward to interpose, but he came 
too late. The tomahawk was driven deep into the 
scull, and but a single sentence from his lips preceded 
the final insensibility of the victim. 

" It is good, Matiwan, it is good — thou hast saved me 
— the death is in my heart." And back he sunk as he 
spoke, while a shriek of mingled joy and horror from 
the lips of the mother announced the success of her 
effort to defeat the doom, the most dreadful in the ima- 
gination of the Yemassee. 

" He is not lost — he is not lost. They may not 
take the child from his mother. They may not keep 
him from the valley of Manneyto. He is free — he is 
free." And she fell back in hysterics into the arms of 
Sanutee, who by this time had approached. She had 
defrauded Opitchi-Manneyto of his victim, for they 
may not remove the badge of the nation from any but 
the living victim. 






' Thus goes the empire down — the people shout, 
And perish. From the vanishing wreck, I save 
One frail memorial." 



Harper & Brothers, 82 Cliff-st. 


Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1835, 

by Hakper & Brothers, 

in the Clerk's office of the Southern District of New-York- 



" For love and war are twins, and both are made 
Of a strange passion, which misleads the sense, 
And makes the feeling madness. Thus they grow, 
The thorn and flower together, wounding oft, 
When most seductive." 

Some men only live for great occasions. They 
sleep in the calm — but awake to double life, and un- 
looked-for activity, in the tempest. They are the 
zephyr in peace, the storm in war. They smile unf'l 
you think it impossible they should ever do otherwise, 
and you are paralyzed when you behold the change 
which an hour brings about in them. Their whole life 
in public would seem a splendid deception ; and as their 
minds and feelings are generally beyond those of the 
great mass which gathers about, and in the end depends 
upon them, so they continually dazzle the vision and 
distract the judgment of those who passingly observe 
them. Such men become the tyrants of all the rest, 
and, as there are two kinds of tyranny in the world, 
they either enslave to cherish or to destroy. 

Of this class was Harrison, — erratic, daring, yet 
thoughtful, — and not to be measured by such a mind 
as that of the pastor, Matthews. We have seen his 
agency — a leading agency — in much of the business of 
the preceding narrative. It was not an agency of the 
moment, but of continued exertion, the result of a due 
recognition of the duties required at his hands. Nor 
is this agency to be discontinued now. He is still 
busy, and, under his direction and with his assistance, 
the sound of the hammer, and the deep echo of the 
axe, in the hands of Granger, the smith, and Hector, 


were heard without intermission in the Block House, 
" closing rivets up," and putting all things in a state of 
preparation for those coming dangers which his active 
mind had predicted. He was not to be deceived by 
the thousand shows which are apt to deceive others. 
He looked more deeply into principles and the play 
of moods in other men, than is the common habit ; 
and while few of the borderers estimated with him 
the amount of danger and difficulty which he felt to 
be at hand, he gave himself not the slightest trouble 
in considering their vague speculations, to which a lib- 
eral courtesy might have yielded the name of opinions. 
His own thoughts were sufficient for him ; and while 
this indifference may seem to have been the product 
of an excess of self-esteem, we shall find in the sequel 
that, in the present case, it arose from a strong 
conviction, the legitimate result of a calm survey of 
objects and actions, and a cool and deliberate judgment 
upon them. 

We have beheld some of his anxieties in the strong 
manifestation which he gave to Occonestoga, when he 
despatched the unfortunate young savage as a spy, on an 
adventure which had found such an unhappy and un- 
looked-for termination. Entirely ignorant of the event, it 
was with no small impatience that his employer waited 
for his return during the entire night and the greaterpor- 
tion of the ensuing day. The distance was not so great 
between the two places, but that the fleet-footed Indian 
might have readily overcome it in a night, giving him 
sufficient allowance of time also for all necessary 
discoveries ; and, doubtless, such would have been the 
case but for his ill-advised whisper in the ear of 
Hiwassee, and the not less ill-advised visit to the 
cottage of Matiwan. The affection of the mother for 
the fugitive and outlawed son, certainly, deserved no 
less ; but while it demanded that regardful return, 
which, amid all his errors, he fondly gave her, the 
policy of the warrior was sadly foregone in that in- 
discreet proceeding. His failure — the extent yet un- 
known to Harrison — left the latter doubtful whether to 


ascribe it to his misfortune, or to treachery ; and this 
doubt contributed greatly to his solicitude. In spite of 
the suggestions of Granger, who knew the young war- 
rior of old, he could not help suspecting him of deser- 
tion from the English cause as a concession by which 
to secure himself a reinstatement in the confidence of 
his people ; and this suspicion, while it led to new 
preparations for the final issue, on the part of Harrison, 
was fruitful at the same time of exaggerated anxiety 
to his mind. To much of the drudgery of hewing and 
hammering, therefore, he subjected himself with the 
rest ; and though cheerful in its performance, the most 
casual observer could have readily seen how much 
station and education had made him superior to such 
employ. Having thus laboured for some time, he pro- 
ceeded to other parts of his assumed duties, and 
mounting his steed, — a favourite and fine chestnut — 
and followed by Dugdale, who had been carefully 
muzzled, he took his way in a fleet gallop through the 
intricacies of the surrounding country. 

The mystery was a singular one which hung over 
Harrison in all that region. It was strange how 
people loved him — how popular he had become, even 
while in all intrinsic particulars so perfectly unknown. 
He had somehow won golden opinions from all the 
borderers, wild, untameable, and like the savages, as 
in many cases they were ; and the utmost confidence 
was placed in his opinions, even when, as at this 
time was the case, they happened to differ from the 
general tenour of their own. This confidence, indeed, 
had been partially given in the first instance, from the 
circumstance of his having taken their lead suddenly, 
when all were panic stricken around ; and with an 
audacity that looked like madness, but which in a time 
of panic is good policy, had gone forth to the encoun- 
ter with the Coosaws, a small but desperate tribe, 
which had risen, without any other warning than the 
war-whoop, upon the Beaufort settlement. His valour 
on this occasion, obtained from the Indians themselves 
the nom de guerre of Coosah-moray-te, or the Coosaw- 


killer ; and one that seems to have been well deserved, 
for in that affair the tribe nearly suffered annihilation, 
and but a single town, that of Coosaw-hatchie, or the 
refuge of the Coosaws, was left them of all their pos- 
sessions. The poor remains of their people from that 
time became incorporated with the Yemassees. His 
reckless audacity, cheerful freedom, mingled at the 
same time so strangely with playfulness and cool com- 
posure, while exciting the strongest interest, created 
the warmest regard among the foresters ; and though in 
all respects of residence and family utterly unknown 
save to one, or at the most, to two among them — ap- 
pearing as he did, only now and then, and as suddenly 
disappearing — yet all were glad when he came, and 
sorry when he departed. Esteeming him thus, 
they gave him the command of the " green jackets," 
the small corps which, in that neighbourhood, the 
affair of the Coosaws had first brought into something 
like regular existence. He accepted tnis trust readily, 
but freely assured his men that he might not be present 
— such were his labours elsewhere — at all times to dis- 
charge the duties. Such, however, was his popularity 
among them, that a qualification like this failed to 
affect their choice. They took him on his own terms, 
called him Captain Harrison, or, more familiarly, 
captain, and never troubled themselves for a single 
instant to inquire whether that were his right name or 
not ; though, if they had any doubts, they never suf- 
fered them to reach, certainly never to offend, the 
ears of their commander. The pastor, rather more 
scrupulous, as he thought upon his daughter, lacked 
something of this confidence. We have seen how his 
doubts grew as his inquiries had been baffled. The 
reader, if he has not been altogether inattentive to the 
general progress of the narrative, has, probably, at this 
moment, a more perfect knowledge of our hero than 
either of these parties. 

But to return. Harrison rode into the neighbouring 
country, all the settlements of which he readily ap- 
peared to know. His first visit in that quarter had 


been the result of curiosity in part, and partly in con- 
sequence of some public responsibilities coming with 
an official station, as by this time the reader will have 
conjectured. A new and warmer interest came with 
these, soon after he had made the acquaintance of the 
beautiful Bess Matthews ; and having involved his 
own affections with that maiden, it was not long before 
he found himself able to command hers. The father 
of Bess objected, as the stranger was unknown, if 
not nameless ; but when did love ever seriously regard 
the inclinations of papa? Bess loved Gabriel, and the 
exhortations of the old gentleman had only the effect 
of increasing a passion which grows vigorous from 
restraint, and acquires obstinacy from compulsion. 

But the lover went not forth on this occasion in 
quest of his mistress. His labours were more im- 
posing, if less grateful. He went forth among his 
troop and their families. He had a voice of warning 
for all the neighbouring cottagers — a warning of danger, 
and an exhortation to the borderers to be in perfect 
readiness for it, at the well-known signal. But his 
warning was in a Avord — an emphatic sentence — 
which, once uttered, affected in no particular his usual 
manner. To one and another he had the cheerful 
encouragement of the brother soldier — the dry sarcasm 
to the rustic gallant — the innocuous jest to the half- 
won maiden ; and, with the ancient grandsire or 
grandam, the exciting inquiry into old times — merry 
old England, or hilarious Ireland — or of whatever 
other faderland from which they might severally have 

This adjusted, and having prepared all minds for 
events which his own so readily foresaw — having 
counselled the more exposed and feeble to the shelter 
of the Block House at the first sign of danger, — the 
lover began to take the place of the commander, and 
in an hour we find him in the ancient grove — the well- 
known place of tryst, in the neighbourhood of the 
dwelling of old Matthews. And she was there — the 
girl of seventeen — confiding, yet blushing at her own 


confidence, with an affection as warm as it was un- 
qualified and pure. She hung upon his arm — she sat 
beside him, and the waters of the little brooklet 
gushed into music as they trickled on by their feet. 
The air was full of a song of love — the birds sung 
it — the leaves sighed it — the earth echoed, in many a 
replication, its delicious burden, and they felt it. 
There is no life, if there be no love. Love is the life 
of nature — all is unnatural without it. — The golden 
bowl has no wine, if love be not at its bottom — the in- 
strument has no music if love come not with the strain. 
Let me perish — let me perish, when I cease to love- 
when others cease to love me. 

So thought the two — so felt they — and an hour of 
delicious dreaming threw into their mutual souls a 
linked hope, which promised not merely a future and 
a lasting union to their forms, but an undecaying life 
to their affections. They felt in reality that love must 
be the life of heaven ! 

" Thou unmann'st me, Bess — thou dost, my Armida — ■ 
the air is enchanted about thee, and the active energy 
which keeps me ever in motion when away from thee, 
is gone, utterly gone, when thou art nigh. Wherefore 
is it so 1 Thou art my tyrant — I am weak before 
thee — full of fears, Bess — timid as a child in the 

" Full of hopes too, Gabriel, is it not ? And what 
is the hope if there be no fear — no doubt ? They 
sweeten each other. I thy tyrant, indeed — when thou 
movest me as thou wiliest ! When I have eyes only 
for thy coming, and tears only at thy departure." 

" And hast thou these always, Bess, for such occa- 
sions ? Do thy smiles always hail the one, and thy 
tears always follow the other ? — I doubt, Bess, if 

" And wherefore doubt — thou hast eyes for mine, 
and canst see for thyself." 

" True, but knowest thou not that the lover looks 
most commonly for the beauty, and not often for the 
sentiment of his sweetheart's face ? It is this which 

the: yemassee. 9 

they mean when the poets tell of love's hlindness. 
The light of thy eye dims and dazzles the gaze of 
mine, and I must take the tale from thy lips — " 

"And safely thou mayst, Gabriel — " 

" May I — I hardly looked to find thee so consenting, 
Bess — " exclaimed the lover, taking her response in a 
signification rather at variance with that which she 
contemplated, and, before she was aware, warmly 
pressing her rosy mouth beneath his own. 

" Not so — not so — " confused and blushing she ex- 
claimed, withdrawing quickly from his grasp. "I 
meant to say — " 

" I know — I know, — thou wouldst have said, I might 
safely trust to the declaration of thy lips — and so I 
do, Bess — and want no other assurance. I am happy 
that thy words were indirect, but I am better assured 
as it is, of what thou wouldst have said." 

" Thou wilt not love me, Gabriel, that thus I favour 
thee — thou seest how weak is the poor heart which 
so waits upon thine, and wilt cease to love what is so 
quickly won." 

" It is so pretty, thy chiding, Bess, that to have thee 
go on, it were well to take another assurance from thy 

" Now, thou shalt not — it is not right, Gabriel; 
besides, my father has said — " 

" What he should not have said, and will be sorry 
for saying. He has said that he knows me not, and 
indeed he does not, and shall not as long as in my 
thought it is unnecessary, and perhaps unwise, that 1 
should be known to him." 

" But, why not to me — why shouldst thou keep thy 
secret from me, Gabriel 1 Thou couldst surely trust 
it to my keeping." 

" Ay, safely, I know, were it proper for thee to know 
any thing which a daughter should of right withhold 
from a father. But as I may not give my secret to 
him, I keep it from thee ; not fearing thy integrity, but 
as thou shouldst not hold a trust without sharing thy 
confidence with a parent. Trust me, ere long he shall 


know all ; but now, I may not tell him or thee. I may 
not speak a name in this neighbourhood, where, if I 
greatly err not, its utterance would make me fine 
spoil for the cunning Indians, who are about some 

" What, the Yemassees V 

" Even they, and of this I would have you speak to 
your father. I would not foolishly alarm you, but go 
to him. Persuade him to depart for the Block House, 
where I have been making preparations for your com- 
fort. Let him only secure you all till this vessel takes 
herself off. By that time we shall see how things go." 

" But what has thisvesselto do with it, Gabriel?" 

" A great deal, Bess, if my apprehensions are well 
grounded ; but the reasons are tedious by which I 
come to think so, and would only fatigue your ear." 

" Not so, Gabriel — I would like to hear them, for 
of this vessel, or rather of her captain, my father 
knows something. He knew him well in England." 

" Ay !" eagerly responded Harrison — " I heard that, 
you know ; but, in reality, what — who is he ?" 

" His name is Chorley, as you have heard him say. 
My father knew him when both were young. They 
come from the same part of the country. He was a 
wild, ill-bred profligate, so my father said, in his 
youth ; unmanageable and irregular — left his parents, 
and without their leave went into a ship and became a 
sailor. For many years nothing was seen of him — 
by my father at least — until the other day, when, by 
some means or other he heard of us, and made himself 
known just before your appearance. I never saw him 
to know or remember him before, but he knew me 
when a child." 

" And do you know what he is — and his vessel ?" 

" Nothing but this. — He makes voyages from St. 
Augustine and Cuba, and trades almost entirely with 
the Spaniards in that quarter." 

" But why should he have no connexion here with 
us of that nature, or why is he here at all if such be his 
business t This is one of the grounds of my appre- 


hension — not to speak of the affair of Hector, which 
is enough, of itself, against him." 

" Ah — his crew is ignorant of the language, and 
then he says, so he told us, he seeks to trade for furs 
with the Indians." 

" Still, not enough. None of these reasons are 
sufficient to keep his vessel from the landing, his men 
from the shore, and himself mysteriously rambling in 
the woods without offering at any object, unless it be 
the smuggling of our slaves. I doubt not he comes to 
deal with the Indians, but he comes as an emissary 
from the Spaniards, and it is our skins and scalps he 
is after, if anything." 

" Speak not so, Gabriel, you frighten me." 

" Nay, fear not. There is no danger if we keep 
our eyes open, and can get your obstinate old knot of 
a father to open his." 

" Hush, Gabriel — remember he is my father." And 
she looked the rebuke which her lips uttered. 

" Ay, Bess, I do remember it, or I would not bother 
my head five seconds about him. I should gather you 
up in my arms as the Pagan of old gathered up his 
domestic gods when the earthquake came, and be off 
with you without long deliberating whether a father 
were necessary to your happiness or not." 

" Speak not so lightly, Gabriel — the subject is too 
serious for jest." 

" It is, Bess — quite too serious for jest, and I do not 
jest, or if I do I can't help it. I was born so, and it 
comes to the same thing in the end. This is another 
of his objections to me as your husband. I do not tie 
up my visage when I look upon you, as if I sickened 
of the thing I looked on — and he well knows how I de- 
test that hypocritical moral starch, with which our 
would-be saints contrive to let the world see that sun- 
shine is sin, and a smile of inborn felicity a defiance 
thrown in the teeth of the very God that prompts it." 

" But my father is no hypocrite, Gabriel." 

" Then why hoist their colours 1 He is too good a 
man, Bess, to be their instrument, and much I fear me 


that he is. He has too much of the regular round- 
head — the genuine, never-end-the-sermon manner of 
an old Noll sanctifier. I would forego a kiss — the 
sweetest, Bess, that thy lips could give — to persuade 
the old man, your father, but for a single moment, into 
a hearty, manly, honest, unsophisticated, downright 

" It is true, Gabriel, he laughs not, but then he does 
not frown." 

" Not at thee, Bess — not at thee : who could ? but 
he does at me, most ferociously, and his mouth puckers 
up when his eye rises to mine, in all the involutions 
of a pine bur. But, forgive me : it is not of this I 
would speak now. I will forgive though I may not 
forget his sourness, if you can persuade him into a 
little precaution at the present moment. There is 
danger, I am satisfied ; and your situation here is an 
exposed one. This sailor-friend or acquaintance of 
yours, is no friend if he deal with the Spaniards of 
St. Augustine — certainly an enemy, and most probably 
a pirate. I suspect him to be the latter, and have my 
eyes on him accordingly. As to the trade with the 
Indians that he talks of, it is all false, else why should 
he lie here so many days without change of position 
or any open intercourse with them ? and then, what 
better evidence against him than the kidnapping of 

" But he has changed his position — his vessel has 
moved higher up the river." 

" Since when ?" 

" Within the last three hours. Her movement was 
pointed out by my father as we stood together on the 
bluff fronting the house." 

" Indeed — this must be seen to, and requires de- 
spatch. Come with me, Bess. To your father at once, 
and say your strongest and look your sweetest. Be 
twice as timid as necessary, utter a thousand fears and 
misgivings, but persuade him to the shelter of the 
Block House." 

" Where I may be as frequently as convenient ip 


the company of Master Gabriel Harrison. Is it not 
so ?" — and she looked up archly into his face. For 
once the expression of his look was grave, and his 
eye gazed deeply down into her own. With a sobriety 
of glance not unmixed with solemnity, he spoke — 

" Ah, Bess — if I lose thee, I am myself lost ! But 
come with me — I will see thee to the wicket, — safe, 
ere I leave thee, beyond the province of the rattle- 

" Speak not of that," she quickly replied, with an 
involuntary shudder, looking around her as she spoke, 
upon the spot, just then contiguous, associated by that 
scene, so deeply with her memory. He led her to the 
end of the grove, within sight of her father's cottage, 
and his last words at leaving her were those of urgent 
entreaty, touching her removal to the Block House. 


* Away, thou art the slave of a base thought, 
And hast no will of truth. I scorn thee now, 
With my whole soul, as once, with my whole soul, 
I held thee worthy." 

But Bess Matthews was not left to solitude, though 
left by her lover. A new party came upon the scene, 
in the person of Hugh Grayson, emerging from the 
neighbouring copse, from the cover of which he had 
witnessed the greater portion of the interview between 
Harrison and the maiden. This unhappy young man, 
always a creature of the fiercest impulses, in a moment 
of the wildest delirium of that passion for Bess which 
had so completely swallowed up his better judgment, 
not less than all sense of high propriety, had been 
guilty, though almost unconscious at the time of the 
woful error, of a degree of espionage, for which, the 
moment after, he felt many rebukings of shame and 


conscience. Hurried on, however, by the impetuous 
impulse of the passion so distracting him, the fine 
sense, which should have been an impassable barrier 
rising up like a wall in the way of such an act, had 
foregone its better control for the moment, and he had 
lingered sufficiently long under cover to incur the 
stigma, as he now certainly felt the shame, of having 
played the part of a spy. But his error had its punish- 
ment, even in its own progress. He had seen that 
which contributed still more to increase his mortifica- 
tion, and to imbitter his soul against the more suc- 
cessful rival, whose felicities he had beheld — scarcely 
able to clinch the teeth in silence which laboured all 
the while to gnash in agony. With a cheek in which 
shame and a purposeless fury alike showed them- 
selves, and seemed struggling for mastery, he now 
came forward ; and approaching the maiden, addressed 
her as he did so with some common phrase of formal 
courtesy, which had the desired effect of making her 
pause for his coming. He steeled his quivering 
muscles into something like rigidity, while a vain and 
vague effort at a smile, like lightning from the cloud, 
strove visibly upon his features. 

" It is not solitude, then," said he, " that brings Miss 
Matthews into the forest. Its shelter — its secrecy 
alone, is perhaps its highest recommendation." 

" What is it that you mean, Master Grayson, by 
your words V replied the maiden, while something of 
a blush tinged slightly the otherwise pale and lily com- 
plexion of her face. 

" Surely I have spoken nothing mysterious. My 
thought is plain enough, I should think, were my only 
evidence in the cheek of Miss Matthews herself." 

" My cheek speaks nothing for me, Master Grayson, 
which my tongue should shame to utter; and if you have 
spoken simply in reference to Gabriel — Master Harri- 
son Imean — you have been at much unnecessary trou- 
ble. Methinks too, there is something in your own face 
that tells of a misplaced watchfulness on your part, 
where your neighbour holds no watch to be necessary." 


"You are right, Miss Matthews — you are right. 
There is — there should be, at least — in my face, ac- 
knowledgment enough of the baseness which led me as 
a spy upon your path — upon his path !" replied the 
young man, while his cheek grew once more alternately 
from ashes to crimson. " It was base, it was unmanly 
— but it has had its punishment — its sufficient punish- 
ment, believe me — in the discovery which it has made. 
I have seen that, Miss Matthews, which I would not 
willingly have seen ; and which the fear to see, alone, 
led to the accursed survey. Pardon me, then — pity 
me, pity if you can — though I can neither well pardon 
nor pity myself." 

" I do pardon you, sir — freely pardon you, for an 
error which I should not have thought it in your nature 
intentionally to commit ; but what to pity you for, saving 
for the self-reproach which must come with your con- 
sciousness, I do not so well see. Your language is 
singular, Master Grayson." 

" Indeed ! Would I could be so blind. You have 
not seen, then — you know not 1 Look at me, Miss 
Matthews — is there no madness in my eyes — on my 
tongue — in look, word, action? Have I not raved in 
your ears — never?" 

"No, as I live, never!" responded the astonished 
maiden. " Speak not in this manner, Master Grayson 
— but leave me — permit me to retire." 

" Ha ! you would go to him ! Hear me, Bess Mat- 
thews. — Do you know him — this stranger — this adven- 
turer — -this haughty pretender, whose look is presump- 
tion 1 Would you trust to him you know not ? What 
is he ? Can you confide in one whom nobody speaks 
for— whom nobody knows ? Would you throw yourself 
upon ruin — into the arms of a stranger — a — " 

" Sir, Master Grayson — this is a liberty — " 

" License, rather, lady ! The license of madness ; 
for I am mad, though you see it not — an abandoned 
madman ; degraded, as you have seen, and almost 
reckless of all things and thoughts, as all may see in 
time. God ! is it not true 1 True it is, and you — you, 
Bess Matthews — you are the cause." 


" 1 1 — " replied the maiden, in unmixed astonishment. 

" Ay, you. Hear me. I love — I loved you, Miss 
Matthews — have long loved you. We have been to- 
gether almost from infancy ; and I had thought — for- 
give the vanity of that thought, Bess Matthews — I 
had thought that you might not altogether have been 
unkind to me. For years I had this thought — did you 
not know it? — for years I lived on in the sweet hope — 
the dear promise which it hourly brought me — for years 
I had no life, if I had not this expectation ! • In an evil 
hour came this stranger — this Harrison — it is not long 
since — and from that moment I trembled. It was an 
instinet that taught me to fear, who had never feared 
before. I saw, yet dreaded to believe in what I saw. 
I suspected, and shrunk back in terror from my own 
suspicions. But they haunted me like so many damned 
spectres. They were everywhere around me, goading 
me to madness. In my mood, under their spur, I sunk 
into the spy. I became degraded, — and saw all — all ! 
I saw his lip resting upon yours — warmly, passion- 
ately — and yours, — yours grew to its pressure, Bess 
Matthews, and did not seek to be withdrawn." 

" No more of this, Master Grayson — thou hast 
thought strange and foolish things, and though they 
surprise me, I forgive them — I forgive thee. Thou 
hadst no reason to think that I was more to thee than 
to a stranger, that I could be more — and I feel not any 
self-reproach, for I have done naught and said naught 
which could have ministered to thy error. Thy un- 
wise, not to say thy unbecoming and unmanly curiosity, 
Master Grayson, makes me the less sorry that thou 
shouldst know a truth which thou findest so painful to 

" Oh, be less proud — less stern, Bess Matthews. 
Thou hast taken from this haughty stranger some of 
his bold assumption of superiority, till thou even for- 
gettest that erring affection may have its claim upon 

'* But not upon justice. I am not proud — thou dost 
me wrong, Master Grayson, and canst neither under- 


stand me nor the noble gentleman of whom thy words 
are disrespectful." 

"And what is he, that I should respect him? Am 
I not as free — a man, — an honest man — and what is 
he more, — even if he be so much 1 Is he more ready- 
to do and to dare for thee ? — Is he stronger ? — Will he 
fight for thee ? Ha ! if he will !— " 

" Thou shalt make me no game-prize, even in thy 
thought, Master Grayson — and thy words are less than 
grateful to my ears. Wilt thou not leave me ?" 

"Disrespectful to him, indeed — a proud and senseless 
swaggerer, presuming upon his betters. I — " 

" Silence, sir ! think, what is proper to manhood, and 
look that which thou art not," exclaimed the aroused 
maiden, in a tone which completely startled her com- 
panion, while she gathered herself up to her fullest 
height, and waved him off with her hand. " Go, sir — 
thou hast presumed greatly, and thy words are those 
of the ruffian, as thy late conduct has been that of the 
hireling and the spy. Thou think that I loved thee ' 
— that I thought of a spirit so ignoble as thine ; — and A 
is such as thou that would slander and defame my Ga- 
briel, — he, whose most wandering thought could never 
compass the tithe of that baseness which makes up thy 
whole soul." And as she spoke words of such bitter 
import, her eye flashed and the beautiful lips curled in 
corresponding indignation, while her entire expression 
of countenance was that of a divine rebuke. The 
offender trembled with convulsive and contradictory 
emotions, and for a few moments after her retort had 
been uttered, remained utterly speechless. He felt 
the justice of her severity, though every thought and 
feeling, in that instant, taught him how unequal he 
was to sustain it. He had, in truth, spoken without 
clear intent, and his language had been in no respect 
under the dominion of reason. But he regained his 
energies as he beheld her, with an eye still flashing 
fire and a face covered with inexpressible dignity, 
moving scornfully away. He recovered, though with a 
manner wild and purposeless — his hands and eyes lift- 
ed imploringly — and chokingly, thus addressed her :— 


" Leave me not — not in anger, Bess Matthews, I 
implore you. I have done you wrong — done him 
wrong:" with desperate rapidity he uttered the last 
passage — " I have spoken unjustly, and like a mad- 
man. But forgive me. Leave me not therefore, with 
an unforgiving thought, since, in truth, I regret my error 
as deeply as you can possibly reprove it." 

Proud and lofty in her sense, the affections of Bess 
Matthews were, nevertheless, not less gentle than 
lofty. She at once turned to the speaker, and the 
prayer was granted by her glance, ere her lips had 

" I do — I do forgive thee, Master Grayson, in con- 
sideration of the time when we were both children. 
But thou hast said bitter words in mine ear, which thou 
wilt not hold it strange if I do not over-soon forget. But 
doubt not that I do forgive thee ; and pray thee for thy 
own sake — for thy good name, and thy duty to thyself 
and to the good understanding which thou hast, and the 
honourable feeling which thou shouldst have, — that 
thou stray not again so sadly." 

" I thank thee — I thank thee," — was all he said, as 
he carried the frankly-extended hand of the maiden to 
his lips, and then rushed hurriedly into the adjacent 


" Thus human reason, ever confident, 
Holds its own side — half erring and half right, — 
Not tutored by a sweet humility, 
That else might safely steer." 

Bred up amid privation, and tutored as much by 
its necessities as by a careful superintendence, Bess 
Matthews was a girl of courage, not less than of feel- 
ing. She could endure and enjoy ; and the two capa- 


cities were so happily balanced in her character, that, 
while neither of them invaded the authority of the 
other, they yet happily neutralized any tendency to ex- 
cess on either side. Still, however, her susceptibilities 
were great, for at seventeen the affections are not apt 
to endure much provocation ; and deeply distressed 
with the previous scene, and, with that gentleness 
which was her nature, grieved sincerely at the condition 
01 a youth, of whom she had heretofore thought so 
lavourably— but not to such a degree as to warrant the 
nope which he had entertained, and certainly without 
having held out to it any show of encouragement— she 
re-entered her father's dwelling, and immediately pro- 
ceeded to her chamber. Though too much excited 
by her thoughts to enter with her father upon the topic 
suggested by Harrison , and upon which he had dwelt 
with such emphasis, she ^ as yet strong and calm 
enough for a close self-examination. Had she said or 
done any thing which might have misled Hugh Gray- 
son ? This was the question which her fine sense of 
justice, not less than of maidenly piopriety dictated 
for her answer ; and with that close and calm analvsis 
of her own thoughts and feelings, which wSX 
be the result of a due acquisition of just prihoJDles in 
education, she referred to all those unerring standards 
of the mind which virtue and common sense establish 
for the satisfaction of her conscience, against those 
suggestions of doubt with which her feeling had as- 
sailed it, on the subject of her relations with that person 
Her feelings grew more and more composed as the 
scrutiny proceeded, and she rose at last from the 
couch upon which she had thrown herself, with a heart 
lightened at least of the care which a momentary doubt 
of its own propriety had inspired. 

There was another duty to perform, which also had 
its difficulties. She sought her father in the adjoin- 
ing chamber, and if she blushed in the course of the 
recital, injustice to maidenly delicacy, she at least did 
not scruple to narrate fully in his ears all the particu- 
lars of her recent meeting with Harrison, with a sweet 


regard to maidenly truth. We do not pretend to say 
that she dwelt upon details, or gave the questions and 
replies — the musings and the madnesses of the con- 
versation — for Bess had experience enough to know 
that in old ears, such matters are usually tedious 
enough, and that in this respect, they differ sadly from 
young ones. She made no long story of the meeting, 
though she freely told the whole ; and with all her 
warmth and earnestness, as Harrison had counselled, 
she proceeded to advise the old man of the dangers 
from the Indians, precisely as her lover had counselled 

The old man heard, and was evidently less than 
satisfied with the frequency with which the parties met. 
He had not denied Bess this privilege — he was not 
stern enough for that; and, possibly, knowing his 
daughter's character not less than her heart, he was by 
no means unwilling to confide freely in her. But still 
he exhorted, in good set but general language, rather 
against Harrison than with direct reference to the inti- 
macy between me two. He gave his opinion on that 
subject too, unfavourably to the habit, though without 
uttering wpy distinct command. As he went on and 
warmed with his own eloquence, his help-mate, — an 
excellent old lady, who loved her daughter too well to 
see her tears and be silent — joined freely in the dis- 
course, and on the opposite side of the question : so 
that, on a small scale, we are favoured with the glimpse 
of a domestic flurry, a slight summer gust, which 
ruffles to compose, and irritates to smooth and pacify. 
Rough enough for a little while, it was happily of no 
great continuance ; for the old people had lived tco 
long together, and were quite too much dependant on 
their mutual sympathies, to suffer themselves to play 
long at cross purposes. In ceasing to squabble, how- 
ever, Mrs. Matthews gave up no point ; and was too 
much interested in the present subject readily to fore- 
go the argument upon it. She differed entirely from 
her husband with regard to Harrison, and readily sided 
with her daughter in favouring his pretensions. He had 


a happy and singular knack of endearing himself to 
most people ; and the very levity which made him 
distasteful to the pastor, was, strange to say, one of 
the chief influences which commended him to his lady. 

" Bess is wrong, my dear," at length said the pastor, 
in a tone and manner meant to be conclusive on the 
subject — " Bess is wrong — decidedly wrong. We 
know nothing of Master Harrison — neither of his 
family nor of his pursuits — and she should not encour- 
age him." 

" Bess is right, Mr. Matthews," responded the old 
lady, with a doggedness of manner meant equally to 
close the controversy, as she wound upon her fingers 
from a little skreel in her lap, a small volume of the 
native silk.* — " Bess is right — Captain Harrison is a 
nice gentleman — always so lively, always so polite, 
and so pleasant. — I declare, I don't see why you don't 
like him, and it must be only because you love to go 
against all other people." 

" And so, my dear," gently enough responded the 
pastor, " you would have Bess married to a — nobody 
knows who or what." 

" Why, dear me, John — what is it you don't know 1 
I'm sure I know every thing I want to know about the 
captain. His name's Harrison — and — " 

* The culture of silk was commenced in South Carolina as far 
back, as the year 1702, and thirteen years before the date of this nar- 
rative. It was introduced by Sir Nathaniel Johnston, then holding 
the government of the province under the lords proprietors. This 
gentleman, apart from his own knowledge of the susceptibility, for its 
production, of that region, derived a stimulus to the prosecution of 
the enterprise from an exceeding great demand then prevailing in 
England for the article. The spontaneous and free growth of the 
mulberry in all parts of the southern country first led to the idea 
that silk might be made an important item in the improving list 
of its products. For a time he had every reason to calculate upon 
the entire success of the experiment, but after a while, the pursuit 
not becoming immediately productive, did not consort with the im- 
patient nature of the southrons, and was given over — when perhaps 
wanting but little of complete success. The experiment, however, 
was prosecuted sufficiently long to show, though it did not become 
an object of national importance, how much might, with proper 
energy, be done toward making it such. Of late days, a new im- 
pulse has been given to the trial, and considerable quantities of silk 
are annually made in the middle country of South Carolina. 


" What more ?" inquired the pastor with a smile, 
seeing that the old lady had finished her silk and 
speech at the same moment. 

" Why nothing, John — but what we do know, you 
will admit, is highly creditable to him ; and so, I do 
not see why you should be so quick to restrain the 
young people, when we can so easily require to know 
all that is necessary before we consent, or any decisive 
step is taken." 

" But, my dear, the decisive step is taken when the 
affections of our daughter are involved." 

The old lady could say nothing to this, but she had 
her word. 

" He is a nice, handsome gentleman, John." 

; ' Beauty is, that beauty does," replied the pastor in 
a proverb. 

" Well, but John, he's in no want of substance. 
He has money, good gold in plenty, for I've seen it 
myself — and I'm sure that's a sight for sore eyes, after 
we've been looking so long at the brown paper that 
the assembly have been printing, and which they call 
money. Gold now is money, John, and Captain Har- 
rison always has it." 

" It would be well to know where it comes from," 
doggedly muttered the pastor. 

" Oh, John, John — where's all your religion ? How 
can you talk so ? You are only vexed now — I'm cer- 
tain that's it — because Master Harrison won't satisfy 
your curiosity." 

" Elizabeth !" 

" Well, don't be angry now, John. I didn't mean 
that exactly, but really you are so uncharitable. It's 
neither sensible nor Christian in you. Why will you 
be throwing up hills upon hills in the way of Bess' 
making a good match 1" 

" I do not, Elizabeth ; that is the very point which 
makes me firm." 

" Stubborn, you mean. 

" Well, perhaps so, Elizabeth, but stubborn I will 
be until it is shown to be a good match, and then he 


may have her with all my heart. It is true, I love not 
his smart speeches, and then he sometimes makes quite 
too free. But I shall not mind that, if I can find out cer- 
tainly who he is, and that he comes of good family, and 
does nothing disreputable. Remember, Elizabeth, we 
come of good family ourselves, — old England can't 
show a better ; and we must be careful to do it no dis- 
credit by a connexion for our child." 

" That is all true and very sensible, Mr. Matthews, 
and I agree with you whenever you talk, to the point. 
Now you will admit, I think, that I know when a gen- 
tleman is a gentleman, and when he is not — and I tell 
you that if Master Harrison is not a gentleman, then 
give me up, and don't mind my opinion again. I 
don't want spectacles to see that he comes of good 
family and is a gentleman." 

" Yes, your opinion may be right, but if it is wrong — 
what then 1 The evil will be past remedy." 

"It can't be wrong. When I look upon him, I'm 
certain — so graceful and polite, and then his dignity 
and good-breeding." 

" Good-breeding, indeed !" and this exclamation the 
pastor accompanied with a most irreverend chuckle, 
which had in it a touch of bitterness. " Go to your 
chamber, Bess, my dear," he said, turning to his daugh- 
ter, who, sitting in a corner rather behind her mother, 
with head turned downwards to the floor, had heard 
the preceding dialogue with no little interest and dis- 
quiet. She obeyed the mandate in silence, and when 
she had gone, the old man resumed his exclamation. 

" Good-breeding, indeed ! when he told me, to my 
face^, that he would have Bess in spite of my teeth." 

The old lady now chuckled in earnest, and the pas- 
tor's brow gloomed accordingly. 

" Well, I declare, John, that only shows a fine-spir- 
ited fellow. Now, as I live, if I were a young man, 
in the same way, and were to be crossed after this 
fashion, I'd say the same things That I would. I 
tell vou, John, I see no harm in it, and my memory's 


good, John, that you had some of the same spirit in 
our young days." 

" Your memory's quite too good, Elizabeth, and the 
less you let it travel back the better for both of us," 
was the somewhat grave response. "But I have 
something to say of young Hugh — Hugh Grayson, I 
mean. Hugh really loves Bess — I'm certain quite 
as much as your Captain Harrison. Now, we know 
him !" 

" Don't speak to me of Hugh Grayson, Mr. Mat- 
thews — for it's no use. Bess don't care a straw for 

" A fine, sensible young man, very smart, and likely 
to do well." 

"A sour, proud upstart — idle and sulky — besides, 
he's got nothing in the world." 

" Has your Harrison any more V 

" And if he hasn't, John Matthews — let me tell you 
at least, he's a very different person from Hugh Gray- 
son, besides being born and bred a gentleman." 

" I'd like to know, Elizabeth, how you come at that, 
that you speak it so confidently." 

" Leave a woman alone for finding out a gentleman 
bred from one that is not ; it don't want study and 
witnesses to tell the difference betwixt them. We 
can tell at a glance." 

" Indeed ! But I see it's of no use to talk with you 
now. You are bent on having things all your own 
way. As for the man, I believe you are almost as 
much in love with him as your daughter." And this 
was said with a smile meant for compromise ; but the 
old lady went on gravely enough for earnest. 

" And it's enough to make me, John, when you are 
running him down from morning to night, though you 
know we don't like it. But that's neither here nor 
there. His advice is good, and he certainly means it 
for our safety. Will you do as Bess said, and shall 
we go to the Block House, till the Indians come quiet 
again ?" 

" His advice, indeed ! You help his plans won- 


drously. But I see through his object if you do not. 
He only desires us at the Block House, in order to be 
more with Bess than he possibly can be at present. 
He is always there, or in the neighbourhood." 

" And you are sure, John, there's no danger from 
the Indians !" 

" None, none in the world. They are as quiet as 
they well can be, under the repeated invasion of their 
grounds by the borderers, who are continually hunting 
in their woods By the way, I must speak to young 
Grayson on the subject. He is quite too frequently 
over the bounds, and they like him not." 

*' Well, well — but this insurrection, John V 

" Was a momentary commotion, suppressed instantly 
by the old chief Sanutee, who is friendly to us ; and 
whom they have just made their great chief, or king, 
in place of Huspah, whom they deposed. Were they 
unkindly disposed, they would have destroyed, and not 
have saved, the commissioners." 

" But Harrison knows a deal more of the Indians 
than any body else ; and then they say that Sanutee 
himself drove Granger out of Pocota-li^o " 

" Harrison says more than he can unsay, and pre- 
tends to more than he can ever know ; and I heed not 
his opinion. As for the expulsion of Granger, I do 
not believe a word of it." 

" I wish, John, you would not think so lightly of 
Harrison. You remember he saved us when the Coo- 
saws broke out. His management did every thing 
then- Now, don't let your ill opinion of the man 
stand in the way of proper caution. Remember, 
John, — your wife — your child." 

" I do, Elizabeth ; but you are growing a child 

" You don't mean to say I'm in my dotage V said the 
old lady, quickly and sharply. 

" No, no, not that," and he smiled for an instant — 
" only, that your timiditydoes notsuit your experience. 
But I have thought seriously on the subject of this 
threatened outbreak, and, for myself, can see nothing to 

Vol. II. 


fear from the Yeraassees. On the contrary, they have 
not only always been friendly heretofore, but they ap- 
pear friendly now. Several of them, as you know, 
have professed to me a serious conviction of the truth 
of those divine lessons which I have taught them ; 
and when I know this, it would be a most shameful 
desertion of my duty were I to doubt those solemn 
avowals which they have made, through my poor in- 
strumentality, to the Deity." 

" Well, John, I hope you are right, and that Harri- 
son is wrong. To God I leave it to keep us from evil : 
in his hands there are peace and safety." 

'' Amen, amen !" fervently responded the pastor, as 
he spoke to his retiring dame, who, gathering up her 
working utensils, was about to pass into the adjoining 
chamber. " Amen, Elizabeth— though, I must say, the 
tone of your expressed reliance upon God has still in 
it much that is doubtful and unconfiding. Let us add 
to the prayer, one for a better mood along with the 
better fortune." '• 

Here the controversy ended ; the old lady, as her 
husband alleged, still unsatisfied, and the preacher 
himself not altogether assured in his own mind that a 
lurking feeling of hostility to Harrison, rather than a just 
sense of his security, had not determined him to risk 
the danger from the Indians, in preference to a better 
hope of safety" in the shelter of the Block House. 


" I must dare all myself. I cannot dare, 
Avoid the danger. There is in my soul, 
That which may look on death, but not on shame." 

As soon as his interview was over with Bess 
Matthews, Harrison hurried back to the Block House. 
He there received confirmatory intelligence of what 


she had told him. The strange vessel had indeed 
taken up anchors and changed her position. Avail- 
ing herself of a favouring breeze, she ascended the 
river, a few miles nigher the settlements of the 
Yemassees, and now lay fronting the left wing of the 
pastor's cottage ; — the right, of it, as it stood upon 
the jutting tongue of land around which wound the 
river, she had before fronted from below. The new 
position could only have been chosen for the facility 
of intercourse with the Indians, which, from the want 
of a good landing on this side of the river, had been 
wanting to them where she originally lay. In addition 
to this intelligence, Harrison learned that which still 
farther quickened his anxieties. The wife of Granger, 
a woman of a calm, stern, energetic disposition, who 
had been somewhat more observant than her husband, 
informed him that there had been a considerable inter- 
course already between the vessel and the Indians 
since her remove — that their boats had been around 
her constantly during the morning, and that boxes and 
packages of sundry kinds had been carried from her 
to the shore ; individual Indians, too, had been dis- 
tinguished walking her decks ; a privilege which, it was 
well known, had been denied to the whites, who had 
not been permitted the slightest intercourse. All this 
confirmed the already active apprehensions of Har- 
rison. He could no longer doubt of her intentions, or 
of the intentions of the Yemassees ; yet, how to pro- 
ceed — how to prepare — on whom to rely — in what 
quarter to look for the attack, and what was the 
extent of the proposed insurrection ; — was it partial, 
or general? Did it include the Indian nations gen- 
erally — twenty-eight of which, at that time, occupied 
the Carolinas, or was it confined to the Yemassees 
and Spaniards 1 and if the latter were concerned, were 
they to be looked for in force, and whether by land or 
by sea ? These were the multiplied questions, and to 
resolve them was the great difficulty in the way of 
Harrison. That there were now large grounds for sus- 
picion, he could no longer doubt ; but how to proceed 


in arousing the people, and whether it were necessary 
to arouse the colony at large, or only that portion of it 
more immediately in contact with the Indians — and 
how to inform them in time fpr the crisis which he 
now felt was at hand, and involving the fate of the in- 
fant colony — all depended upon the correctness of 
his acquired information, and yet his fugitive spy came 
not back, sent no word, and might have betrayed his 

The doubts grew with their contemplation. The 
more he thought of the recent Yemassee discontents, 
the more he dreaded to think. He knew that this dis- 
content was not confined to the Yemassee, but extended 
even to the waters of the Keowee and to the Apalachian 
mountains. The Indians had suffered on all sides 
from the obtrusive borderers, and had been treated, he 
felt conscious, with less than regard and justice by 
the provincial government itself. But a little time 
before, the voluntary hostages of the Cherokees had 
been treated with indignity and harshness by the 
assembly of Carolina ; having been incarcerated in a 
dungeon under cruel circumstances of privation, which 
the Cherokees at large did not appear to feel in a less 
degree than the suffering hostages themselves, and 
were pacified with extreme difficulty. The full array 
of these circumstances to the mind of Harrison, satis- 
fied him of the utter senselessness of any confidence in 
that friendly disposition of the natives, originally truly 
felt, but which had been so repeatedly abused as to be 
no longer entertained, or only entertained as a mask to 
shelter feelings directly opposite in character. The 
increasing consciousness of danger, and the failure 
of Oceonestoga, on whose intelligence he had so 
greatly depended, momentarily added to his disquiet, 
by leaving him entirely at a loss as to the time, direc- 
tion, and character of that danger which it had been 
his wish and province to provide against. Half so- 
liloquizing as he thought, and half addressing Granger, 
who stood beside him in the upper and habitable room 


of the Block House, the desire of Harrison thus found 
its way to his lips. 

" Bad enough, Granger — and yet what to do — how to 
move — for there's little use in moving without a pur- 
pose. We can do nothing without intelligence, and 
that we must have though we die for it. We must 
seek and find out their aim, their direction, their force, 
and what they depend upon. If they come alone we 
can manage them, unless they scatter simultaneously 
upon various points and take us by surprise, and this, 
if I mistake not, will be their course. But I fear this 
sailor-fellow brings them an ugly coadjutor in the 
power of the Spaniard. He comes from St. Augus- 
tine evidently ; and may bring them men — a concealed 
force, and this accounts for his refusal to admit any of 
our people on board. The boxes too, — did you mark 
them well, Granger ?" 

" As well as I might, sir, from the Chiefs Bluff." 

" And what might they contain, think you ?" 

" Goods and wares, sir, I doubt not : blankets per- 
haps — " 

" Or muskets and gunpowder. Your thoughts run 
upon nothing but stock in trade, and the chance of too 
much competition. Now, is it not quite as likely that 
those boxes held hatchets, and knives, and fire-arms 1 
Were they not generally of one size and shape — long, 
narrow — eh 1 Did you note that?" 

" They were, my lord, all of one size, as you 
describe them. I saw that myself, and so said to 
Richard, but he did not mind." Thus spoke the wife 
of Granger, in reply to the question which had been 
addressed to her husband. 

" Did you speak to me ?" was the stern response of 
Harrison, in a tone of voice and severity not usually 
employed by ihe speaker, accompanying his speerh by 
a keen penetrating glance, which, passing alternately 
from husband to wife, seemed meant to go through them 

" I did speak to you, sir, — and you will forgive me 
for having addressed any other than Captain Har- 


rison," she replied, composedly and calmly, though 
in a manner meant to conciliate and excuse the inad- 
vertence of which she had been guilty in conferring 
upon him a title which in that region it seemed his 
policy to avoid. Then, as she beheld that his glance 
continued to rest, in rebuke upon the shrinking features 
of her husband, she proceeded thus — 

" You will forgive him too, sir, I pray you ; but it is 
not so easy for a husband to keep any secret from his 
wife, and least of all, such as that which concerns a 
person who has provoked so much interest in all." 

"You are adroit, mistress, and your husband owes 
you much. A husband does find it difficult to keep any 
thing secret from his wife but his own virtues ; and of 
those she seldom dreams. But pray, when was this 
wonderful revelation made to you V 

" You were known to me, sir, ever since the For- 
esters made you captain, just after the fight with the 
Coosaws at Tulifinnee Swamp." 

" Indeed !" was the reply ; " well, my good dame, you 
have had my secret long enough to keep it now. I 
am persuaded you can keep it better than your hus- 
band. How now, Granger ! you would be a politician 
too, and I am to have the benefit of your counsels, and 
you would share mine. Is't not so— and yet, you would 
fly to your chamber, and share them with a tongue, 
which, in the better half of the sex, would wag it on 
every wind, from swamp or sea, until all points of the 
compass grew wiser upon it." 

"Why, captain," replied the trader, half stupidly, 
half apologetically — " Moll is a close body enough." 

" So is not Moll's worser half," was the reply. " But 
no more of this folly. There is much for both of us 
to do, and not a little for you if you will do it." 

" Speak, sir, I will do much for you, captain." 

*,' And for good pay. This it is. You must to the 
Yemassees — to Pocota-ligo — see what they do, find 
out what they design, and look after Occonestoga — are 
you ready V 

"It were a great risk, captain." 


»f Why, true, and life itself is a risk. We breathe 
not an instant without hazard of its loss, and a plum- 
stone, to an open mouth at dinner, is quite as perilous 
as the tenth bullet. Sleep is a risk, and one presses 
not his pillow o'nights, without a prayer against 
eternity before morning. Show me the land where 
we risk nothing, and I will risk all to get there." 

" It's as much as my life's worth, captain." 

" Psha ! we can soon count up that. Thou art 
monstrous fond of thy carcass, now, and by this I 
know thou art growing wealthy. We shall add to thy 
gains, if thou wilt go on this service. The assembly 
will pay thee well, as they have done before. Thou 
hast not lost by its service." 

" Nothing, sir — but have gained greatly. In moderate 
adventure, I am willing to serve them now ; but not in 
this. The Yemassees were friendly enough then, and 
so was Sanutee. It is different now, and all the 
favour I could look for from the old chief, would be a 
stroke of his hatchet, to save me from the fire-torture." 

" But why talk of detection ? I do not desire that 
thou shouldst allow thyself to be taken. Think you, 
when I go into battle, the thought of being shot ever 
troubles me 1 no ! If I thought that, I should not per- 
haps go. My only thought is how to shoot others ; 
and you should think, in this venture, not of your own, 
but the danger of those around you. You are a good 
Indian hunter, and have practised all their skill. Take 
the swamp, hug the tree — line the thicket, see and 
hear, nor shout till you are out of the wood. There's 
no need to thrust your nose into the Indian kettles." 

" It might be done, captain ; but if caught, it would 
be so much the worse for me. I can't think of it, sir." 

" Caught indeed ! A button for the man who prefers 
fear rather than hope. Will not an hundred pounds 
teach thee reason 1 Look, man, it is here with thy 
wife — will that not move thee to it ?" 

" Not five hundred, captain, — not five hundred," 
replied the trader, decisively. " I know too well the 
danger, and shan't forget the warning which old Sanutee 


gave me. I've seen enough of it to keep me back ; 
and though I am willing to do a great deal, oaptain, for 
you as well as the assembly, without any reward, as I 
have often done before, — for you have all done a great 
deal for me, — yet it were death, and a horrible death, 
for me to undertake this. I must not — I do not say I 
will not — but in truth I cannot — I dare not." 

Thus had the dialogue between Harrison and the 
trader gone on for some time, the former urging and 
the latter refusing. The wife of the latter all the 
while had looked on and listened in silence, almost un- 
noticed by either, but her countenance during the dis- 
cussion was full of eloquent speech. The colour ill 
her cheeks now came and went, her eye sparkled, her 
lip quivered, and she moved to and fro with emotion 
scarcely suppressed, until her husband came to his 
settled conclusion not to go, as above narrated, when 
she boldly advanced between him and Harrison, and 
with her eye settling scornfully upon him, where he 
stood, she thus addressed him : — 

" Now out upon thee, Richard, for a mean spirit. 
Thou wouldst win money only when the game is easy 
and all thine own. Hast thou not had the pay of the 
assembly, time upon time, and for little risk ? and be- 
cause the risk is now greater, wilt thou hold back like 
a man having no heart 1 I shame to think of that thou 
hast spoken. But the labour and the risk thou fearest 
shall be mine. I fear not the savages — I know their 
arts and can meet them, and so couldst thou, Granger, 
did thy own shadow not so frequently beset thee to 
scare. Give me the charge which thou hast, captain 
— and, Granger, touch not the pounds. Thou wilt 
keep them, my lord, for other service. I will go with- 
out the pay." 

" Thou shalt not, Moll — thou shalt not," cried the 
trader, interposing. 

" But I will, Richard, and thou knowest I will when 
my lips have said it. If there be danger, I have no 
children to feel my want, and it is but my own life, and 
even its loss may save many." 


" Moll — Moll !" exclaimed the trader, half entreating, 
half commanding in his manner, but she heeded him 

" And now, my lord, the duty. What is to be done ?" 
Harrison looked on as she spoke, in wonder and admi- 
ration, then replied, warmly seizing her hand as he 
did so. 

" Now, by heaven, woman, but thou hast a soul — a 
noble, strong, manly soul, such as would shame thou- 
sands of the more presumptuous sex. But thy husband 
has said right in this. Thou shalt not go, and thy 
words have well taught me that the task should be 
mine own." 

"What! my lord!" exclaimed both the trader and 
his wife — " you wilt not trust your person in their 
hands ?" 

; ' No — certainly not. Not if I can help it — but 
whatever be the risk that seems so great to all, I should 
not seek to hazard the lives of others, where my own 
is as easily come at, and where my own is the greater 
stake. So, Granger, be at rest for thyself and wife. 
I put thyself first in safety, where I know thou 
wishest it. For thee — thou art a noble woman, and 
thy free proffer of service is indeed good service 
this hour to me, since it brings me to recollect my own 
duty. The hundred pounds are thine, Granger !" 

" My lord !" 

" No lording, man — no more of that, but hear me. 
In a few hours and with the dusk I shall be off. See 
that you keep good watch when I am gone, for the 
Block House will be the place of retreat for our peo- 
ple in the event of commotion, and will therefore most 
likely be a point of attack with the enemy. Several 
have been already warned, and will doubtless be here 
by night. Be certain you know whom you admit. 
Grimstead and Grayson, with several of the foresters, 
will come with their families, and with moderate cau- 
tion you can make good defence. No more." Thus 
counselling, and directing some additional preparations 
to the trader and his wife, he called for Hector, who 


a moment after made his appearance, as if hurried 
away from a grateful employ, with a mouth greased 
from ear to ear, and a huge mass of fat bacon still 
clutched tenaciously between his fingers. 

" Hector !" 

" Sa, mossa." 

" Hast fed Dugdale to-day ?" 

" Jist done feed 'em, mossa." 

" See that you give him nothing more — and get the 
horse in readiness. I go up the river-trace by the 

" He done, mossa, as you tell me :" and the black 
retired to finish the meal, in the enjoyment of which 
he had been interrupted. At dusk, under the direction 
of his master, who now appeared gallantly mounted 
upon his noble steed, Hector led Dugdale behind him 
to the entrance of a little wood, where the river-trace 
began upon which his master was going. Alighting 
from his horse, Harrison played for a few moments 
with the strong and favourite dog, and thrusting his 
hand, among other things, down the now-and-then ex- 
tended jaws of the animal, he seemed to practise a 
sport to which he was familiar. After this, he made 
the negro put Dugdale's nose upon the indented track, 
and then instructed him, in the event of his not return- 
ing by the moon-rise, to unmuzzle and place him upon 
the trace at the point he was leaving. This done, 
he set off in a rapid gait, Dugdale vainly struggling to 
go after him. 



" School that fierce passion down, ere it unman, 
Ere it o'erthrow thee. Thou art on a height 
Most perilous, and beneath thee spreads the sea, 
And the storm gathers." 

Leaving Bess Matthews, as we have seen, under 
the influence of a fierce and feverish spirit, Hugh Gray- 
son, as if seeking to escape the presence of a pursuing 
and painful thought, plunged deep and deeper into the 
forest, out of the pathway, though still in the direction 
of his own home. His mind was now a complete 
chaos, in which vexation and disappointment, not to 
speak of self-reproach, were active principles of mis- 
rule. He felt deeply the shame following upon the act 
of espionage of which he had been guilty, and though, 
conscious that it was the consequence of a momentary 
paroxysm that might well offer excuse, he was never- 
theless too highly gifted with sensibility not to reject 
those suggestions of his mind which at moments sought 
to extenuate it. Perhaps, too, his feeling of abase- 
ment was not a little exaggerated by the stern and 
mortifying rebuke which had fallen from the lips of that 
being whose good opinion had been all the world to 
him. With these feelings at work, his mood was in 
no sort enviable ; and when at nightfall he reached the 
dwelling of his mother, it was in a condition of mind 
which drove him, a reckless savage, into a corner of the 
apartment opposite that in which sat the old dame 
croning over the pages of the sacred volume. She 
looked up at intervals and cursorily surveyed, in brief 
glances, the features of her son, whose active mind 
and feverish ambition, warring as they ever did against 
that condition of life imposed upon him by the neces- 
sities of his birth and habitation, had ever been an 
object of great solicitude to his surviving parent. He 


had been her pet in his childhood — her pride as he 
grew older, and began to exhibit the energies and 
graces of a strongly-marked and highly original, though 
unschooled intellect. Not without ambition and an 
appreciation of public honours, the old woman could 
not but regard her son as promising to give elevation 
to the name of his then unknown, family ; a hope not 
entirely extravagant in a part of the world in which the 
necessities of life were such as to compel a sense of 
equality in all ; and, indeed, if making an inequality 
anywhere, making it in favour rather of the bold and 
vigorous plebeian, than of the delicately-nurtured and 
usually unenterprising scion of aristocracy. Closing 
the book at length, the old lady turned to her son, and 
without remarking upon the peculiar unseemliness, not 
to say wildness, of his appearance, she thus addressed 
him : — 

" Where hast thou been, Hughey, boy, since noon ? 
Thy brother and thyself both from home — I have felt 
lonesome, and really began to look for the Indians that 
the young captain warned us of.'' 

" Still the captain — nothing but the captain. Go 
where I may, he is in my sight, and his name within 
my ears. I am for ever haunted by his presence. 
His shadow is on the wall, and before me, whichever 
way I turn." 

" And does it offend thee, Hughey, and wherefore 1 
He is a goodly gentleman, and a gracious, and is so 
considerate. He smoothed my cushion when he saw 
A awry, and so well, I had thought him accustomed to 
it all his life. I see no harm in him." 

" I doubt not, mother. He certainly knows well 
how to cheat old folks not less than young ones into 
confidence. That smoothing of thy cushion makes 
him in thy eyes for ever." 

" And so it should, my son, for it shows considera- 
tion. What could he hope to get from an old woman 
like me, and wherefore should he think to find means 
to pleasure me, but that he is well-bred, and a gentle- 
man ?" 


M Ay, that is the word, mother — he is a gentleman — 
who knows, a lord in disguise — and is therefore 
superior to the poor peasant who is forced to dig his 
roots for life in the unproductive sands. Wherefore 
should his hands be unblistered, and mine a sore ? 
Wherefore should he come, and with a smile and silly 
speech win his way into people's hearts, when I, with 
a toiling affection of years, and a love that almost 
grows into a worship of its object, may not gather a 
single regard from any ? Has nature given me life for 
this ? Have I had a thought given me, bidding me 
ascend the eminence and look down upon the multitude, 
only for denial and torture ? Wherefore is this cruelty, 
this injustice 1 Can you answer, mother— does the 
Bible tell you any thing on this subject ?" 

" Be not irreverent, my son, but take the sacred 
volume more frequently into your own hands if you 
desire an answer to your question. Why, Hughey, are 
you so perverse ? making yourself and all unhappy 
about you, and still fevering with every thing you see." 

" That is the question, mother, that I asked you 
but now. Why is it ? Why am I not like my brother, 
who looks upon this Harrison as if he were a god, 
and will do his bidding, and fetch and carry for him 
like a spaniel? I am not so — yet thou hast taught us 
both — we have known no other teaching. Why does 
he love the laughter of the crowd, content to send up 
like sounds with the many, when I prefer the solitude, 
or if I go forth with the rest, go forth only to dissent 
and to deny, and to tutor my voice into a sound that 
shall be unlike any of theirs 1 Why is all this V 

" Nay, I know not, yet so it is, Hughey. Thou wert 
of this nature from thy cradle, and wouldst reject the 
toy which looked like that of thy brother, and quarrel 
with the sport which he had chosen." 

" Yet thou wouldst have me like him — but I would 
rather perish with my own thoughts in the gloomiest 
dens of the forest, where the sun comes not; and 
better, far better that it were so — far better," he ex- 
claimed, moodily. 


" What say'st thou, Hughey — why this new sort of 
language ? what has troubled thee V inquired the old 
woman, affectionately. 

" Mother, I am a slave — a dog — an accursed thing, 
and in the worst of bondage— I am nothing." 

" How !— " 

" I would be, and I am not. They keep me down — 
they refuse to hear— they do not heed me, and with a 
thought of command and a will of power in me, they yet 
pass me by, and I must give way to a bright wand and a 
gilded chain. Even here in these woods, with a poor 
neighbourhood, and surrounded by those who are un- 
honoured and unknown in society, they — the slaves 
that they are ! — they seek for artificial forms, and 
bind themselves with constraints that can only have a 
sanction in the degradation of the many. They yield 
up the noble and true attributes of a generous nature, 
and make themselves subservient to a name and a 
mark — thus it is that fathers enslave their children ; 
and but for this, our lords proprietors, whom God in 
his mercy take to himself, have dared to say, even in 
this wild land not yet their own, to the people who 
have battled its dangers — ye shall worship after our 
fashion, or your voices are unheard. Who is the 
tyrant in this ? — not the ruler — not the ruler — but those 
base spirits who let him rule, — those weak and unwor- 
thy, who, taking care to show their weaknesses, have 
invited the oppression which otherwise could have no 
head. I would my thoughts were theirs — or, and per- 
haps it were better — I would their thoughts were 

" God's will be done, my son — but I would thou 
hadst this content of disposition — without which there 
is no happiness." 

" Content, mother — how idle is that thought. Life 
itself is discontent — hope, which is one of our chief 
sources of enjoyment, is discontent, since it seeks that 
which it has not. Content is a sluggard, and should be 
a slave — a thing to eat and sleep, and perhaps to dream 
of eating and sleeping, but not a thing to live. Dis- 


content is the life of enterprise, of achievement, of 
glory — ay, even of affection. I know the preachers 
say not this, and the cant of the books tells a differ- 
ent story ; but I have thought of it, mother, and I know ! 
Without discontent — a serious and unsleeping discon- 
tent — life would be a stagnant stream as untroubled as 
the back water of the swamps of Edistoh, and as full 
of the vilest reptiles." 

" Thou art for ever thinking strange things, Hugh, 
and different from all other people, and somehow I can 
never sleep after I have been talking with thee." 

" Because I have thought for myself, mother — in the 
woods, by the waters — and have not had my mind 
compressed into the old time-mould with which the 
pedant shapes the sculls of the imitative apes that 
courtesy considers human. My own mind is my 
teacher, and perhaps my tyrant. It is some satisfac- 
tion that I have no other. It is some satisfaction that 
I may still refuse to look out for idols such as Walter 
loves to seek and worship — demeaning a name and 
family which he thus can never honour." 

" What reproach is this, Hughey ? Wherefore art 
thou thus often speaking unkindly of thy brother ? 
Thou dost wrong him." 

" He wrongs me, mother, and the name of my father, 
when he thus for ever cringes to this captain of yours — 
this Harrison — whose name and image mingle in with 
his every thought, and whom he thrusts into my senses 
at every word which he utters." 

" Let not thy dislike to Harrison make thee distrust- 
ful of thy brother. Beware, Hughey — beware, my son, 
thou dost not teach thyself to hate where nature would 
have thee love !" 

" Would I could — how much more happiness were 
mine ! Could I hate where now I love — could I ex- 
change affections, devotion, a passionate worship, for 
scorn, for hate, for indifference, — any thing so it be 
change !" and the youth groaned at the conclusion of 
the sentence, while he thrust his face buried in his 
hands against the wall. 


" Thou prayest for a bad spirit, Hugh ; and a temper 
of sin — hear now, what the good book says, just where 
I have been reading ;" and she was about to read, but 
he hurriedly approached and interrupted her — 

" Does it say why I should have senses, feelings, 
faculties of mind, moral, person, to be denied their 
aim, their exercise, their utterance 1 Does it say why 
I should live, for persecution, for shame, for shackles ? 
If it explain not this, mother, — read not — I will not 
hear — look I I shut my ears — I will not hear even thy 
voice — I am deaf, and would have thee dumb !" 

" Hugh," responded the old woman, solemnly — 
" have I loved thee or not ?" 

" Wherefore the question, mother V he returned, 
with a sudden change from passionate and tumultuous 
emotion, to a more gentle and humble expression. 

" I would know from thy own lips, that thou think- 
est me worthy only of thy unkind speech, and look, 
and gesture. If I have not loved thee well, and as my 
son, thy sharp words are good, and I deserve them ; 
and I shall bear them without reproach or reply." 

" Madness, mother, dear mother — hold me a mad- 
man, but not forgetful of thy love — thy too much love 
for one so undeserving. It is thy indulgence that 
makes me thus presuming. Hadst thou been less kind, 
I feel that I should have been less daring." 

" Ah ! Hugh, thou art wrestling with evil, and thou 
lovest too much its embrace — but stay, — thou art not 
going forth again to-night ?" — she asked, seeing him 
about to leave the apartment. 

" Yes, yes — I must, I must go." 

" Where, I pray — " 

" To the woods — to the woods. I must walk — out 
of sight — in the air — I must have fresh air, for I choke 

" Siqk, Hughey, — my boy — stay, and let me get thee 
some medicine." 

" No, no, — not sick, dear mother; keep me not back 
— fear not for me — I was never better — never better." 
And he supported her, with an effort at moderation, 


back to her chair. She was forced to be satisfied with 
the assurance, which, however, could not quiet. 

" Tho-u wilt come back soon, Hughey, for I am all 
alone, aad Walter is with the captain." 

" The captain !— ay, ay, soon enough, soon enough," 
and as he spoke he was about to pass from the door of 
the apartment, when the ill-suppressed sigh which she 
uttered as she contemplated in him the workings of a 
passion too strong for her present power to suppress, 
arrested his steps. He turned quickly, looked back 
for an instant, then rushed toward her, and kneeling 
down by her side, pressed her hand to his lips, while 
he exclaimed — 

" Bless me, mother — bless your son — pray for him, 
too — pray that he may not madden with the wild 
thoughts and wilder hopes that keep him watchful and 
sometimes make him wayward." 

" I do, Hughey — I do, my son. May God in his 
mercy bless thee, as I do now !" 

He pressed her hand once more to his lips and 
passed from the apartment. 


" What have I done to thee, that thou shouldst lift 
Thy hand against me 1 Wherefore wouldst thou strike 
The heart that never wrong'd thee ?" 

" 'Tis a lie, 
Thou art mine enemy, that evermore 
Keep'st me awake o' nights. I cannot sleep, 
While thou art in my thought." 

Flying from the house, as if by so doing he might 
lose the thoughts that had roused him there into a 
paroxysm of that fierce passion which too much in- 
dulgence had made habitual, he rambled, only half con- 
scious of his direction, from cluster to cluster of the 
old trees, until the seductive breeze of the evening, 


coming up from the river, led him down into that 
quarter. The stream lay before him in the shadow ot 
night, reflecting clearly the multitude of starry eyes 
looking down from the heavens upon it, and with but a 
slight ripple, under the influence of the evening breeze, 
crisping its otherwise settled bosom. How different 
from his — that wanderer ! The disappointed love — the 
vexed ambition — the feverish thirst for the unknown, 
perhaps for the forbidden, increasing his agony at every 
stride which he took along those quiet waters. It was 
here in secret places, that his passion poured itself 
forth — with the crowd it was all kept down by the 
stronger pride, which shrunk from the thought of 
making its feelings public property. With them he was 
simply cold and forbidding, or perhaps recklessly and 
inordinately gay. This was his policy. He well 
knew how great is the delight of the vulgar mind 
when it can search and tent the wound which it dis- 
covers you to possess. How it delights to see the 
victim writhe under its infliction, and, with how much 
pleasure its ears drink in the groans of suffering, par- 
ticularly the suffering of the heart. He knew that men 
are never so well content, once apprized of the sore, 
as when they are probing it ; unheeding the wincings, 
or enjoying them with the same sort of satisfaction 
with which the boy tortures the kitten — and he deter- 
mined, in his case at least, to deprive them of that 
gratification. He had already learned how much we 
are the sport of the many, when we become the 
victims of the few. 

The picture of the night around him was not for 
such a mood. There is a condition of mind necessary 
for the due appreciation of each object and enjoyment, 
and harmony is the life-principle, as well of man as 
of nature. That quiet stream, with its sweet and 
sleepless murmur — those watchful eyes, clustering in 
capricious and beautiful groups above, and peering 
down, attended by a thousand frail glories, into the 
mirrored waters beneath — those bending trees, whose 
matted arms and branches, fringing in the river, made 


it a hallowed home for the dreaming solitary — they 
chimed not in with that spirit, which, now ruffled by 
crossing currents, felt not, saw not, desired not their 
influences. At another time, in another mood, he had 
worshipped them ; now, their very repose and softness, 
by offering no interruption to the train of his own wild 
musings, rather contributed to their headstrong growth. 
The sudden tempest had done the work — the storm 
precedes a degree of quiet which in ordinary nature 
is unknown. 

" Peace, peace — give me peace !" he cried, to the 
elements. The small echo from the opposite bank, cried 
back to him, in a tone of soothing, " peace" — but he 
waited not for its answer. "Wherefore do I ask?" he 
murmured to himself, " and what is it that I ask ? 
Peace, indeed! Repose, rather — release, escape — a free 
release from the accursed agony of this still pursuing 
thought. Is life peace, even with love attained, with 
conquest, with a high hope realized — with an ambition 
secure in all men's adoration ! Peace, indeed ! Thou 
liest, thou life ! thou art an imbodied lie, — wherefore 
dost thou talk to me of peace ? Ye elements, that mur- 
mur on in falsehood, — stars and suns, streams, and ye 
gnarled monitors — ye are all false. Ye would sooth, 
and ye excite, lure, encourage, tempt, and deny. 
The peace of life is insensibility — the suicide of mind 
or affection. Is that a worse crime than the murder 
of the animal ? Impossible. I may not rob the heart of 
its passion — the mind of its immortality ; and the death 
of matter is absurd. Ha ! there is but one to care — but 
one, — and she is old. A year — a month — and the loss 
is a loss no longer. There is too much light here for 
that. Why need these stars see — why should any see, 
or hear, Or know 1 When I am silent they will shine 
■ — and the waters rove on, and she — she will be not 

less happy that I come not between her and . A. 

dark spot — gloomy and still, where the groan will 
have no echo, and no eye may trace the blood which 
streams from a heart that has only too much within it." 

Thus soliloquizing, in the aberration of intellect, 


which was too apt to follow a state of high excitement 
in the individual before u§, he plunged into a small, 
dark cavity of wood, lying hot far from the river road, 
but well concealed, as it was partly under the con- 
tiguous swamp. Here, burying the handle of his bared 
knife in the thick ooze of the soil upon which he 
stood, the sharp point upward, and so placed that it 
must have penetrated, he knelt down at a brief space 
from it, and, with a last thought upon the mother whom 
he could not then forbear to think upon, he strove to 
pray. But he could not — the words stuck in his 
throat, and he gave it up in despair. He turned to the 
fatal weapon, and throwing open his vest, so as to free 
the passage to his heart of all obstructions, with a 
swimming and indirect emotionof the brain, he prepared 
to cast himself, from the spot where he knelt, upon its 
unvarying edge, but at that moment came the quick 
tread of a horse's hoof to his ear; and with all that 
caprice which must belong to the mind that, usually 
good, has yet even for an instant purposed a crime not 
less foolish than foul, he rose at once to his feet. The 
unlooked-for sounds had broken the spell of the scene 
and situation ; and seizing the bared weapon, he ad- 
vanced to the edge of the swamp, where it looked down 
upon the road which ran alongside. The sounds 
rapidly increased in force ; and at length, passing 
directly along before him, his eye distinguished the 
outline of a person whom he knew at once to be Har- 
rison. The rider went by, but in a moment after, 
the sounds had ceased. His progress had been ar- 
rested, and with an emotion, strange and still seemingly 
without purpose, and for which he did not seek to 
account, Grayson changed his position, and moved 
along the edge of the road to where the sounds of the 
horse had terminated. His fingers clutched the knife, 
bared for a different purpose, with a strange sort of 
ecstasy. A sanguinary picture of triumph and of terror 
rose up before his eyes ; and the leaves and the trees, 
to his mind, seemed of the one hue, and dripping with 
gouts of blood. The demon was full in every thought 


A long train of circumstances and their concomitants 
crowded upon his mental vision — circumstances of 
strife, concealment, future success — deep, long-looked 
for enjoyment — and still, with all, came the beautiful 
image of Bess Matthews— 

" Thus the one passion subject makes of all, 
And slaves of the strong sense—" 

There was a delirious whirl — a rich, confused assem- 
blage of the strange, the sweet, the wild, in his spirit, 
that in his morbid condition was a deep delight ; and 
without an effort to bring order to the adjustment of 
this confusion, as would have been the case with a 
well-regulated mind — without a purpose, in his own 
view, he advanced cautiously and well concealed be- 
hind the trees, and approached toward the individual 
whom he had long since accustomed himself only to 
regard as an enemy. Concealment is a leading in- 
fluence of crime with individuals not accustomed to 
refer all their feelings and thoughts to the control 
of just principles, and the remoteness and the silence, 
the secrecy of the scene, and the ease with which the 
crime could be covered up, were among the moving 
causes that prompted the man to murder, who had a 
little before meditated suicide. 

Harrison had alighted from his horse, and was then 
busied in fastening his bridle to a swinging branch of 
the tree under which he stood. Having done this, and 
carefully thrown the stirrups across the saddle, he left 
him, and sauntering back a few paces to a spot of 
higher ground,' he threw himself, with the composure 
of an old hunter, at full length upon the long grass, 
which tufted prettily the spot he had chosen. This 
done, he sounded merrily three several notes upon the 
horn which hung about his neck, and seemed then to 
await the coming of another. 

The blast of the horn gave quickness to the ap- 
proach of Hugh Grayson, who had been altogether 
unnoticed by Harrison ; and he now stood in the 
shadow of a tree, closely observing the fine, manly 


outline, the graceful position, and the entire symmetry 
of his rival's extended person. He saw, and his pas- 
sions grew more and more tumultuous with the sur- 
vey. His impulses became stronger as his increasing 
thoughts grew more strange. There was a feeling of 
strife, and a dream of blood in his fancy — he longed 
for the one, and his eye saw the other — a rich, attrac- 
tive, abundant stream, pouring, as it were, from the 
thousand arteries of some overshadowing tree. The 
reasoning powers all grew silent — the moral faculties 
were distorted with the survey; and the feelings were 
only so many winged arrows goading him on to evil. 
For a time, the guardian conscience — that high stand- 
ard of moral education, without which we cease to be 
human, and are certainly unhappy — battled stoutly ; 
and taking the shape of a thought, which told him con- 
tinually of his mother, kept back, nervously restless, 
the hand which clutched the knife. But the fierce 
passions grew triumphant, with the utterance of a 
single name from the lips of Harrison, — that of Bess, 
— linked with the tenderest epithets of affection. 
With a fierce fury as he heard it, Grayson sprung forth 
from the tree, and his form went heavily down upon 
the breast of the prostrate man. 

" Ha ! assassin, what art thou ?" and he struggled 
manfully with the assailant. " wherefore — what wouldst 
thou ? — speak !" 

" Thy blood — thy blood !" was the only answer, as 
the knife was uplifted. 

" Horrible ! but thou wilt fight for it, murderer," was 
the reply of Harrison, while, struggling with prodi- 
gious effort, though at great disadvantage from the 
close-pressed form of Grayson, whose knee was upon 
his breast, he strove with one hand, at the same mo- 
ment to free his own knife from its place in his bosom, 
while aiming to ward off with the other the stroke of 
his enemy. The whole affair had been so sudden, so 
perfectly unlooked-for by Harrison, who, not yet in 
the Indian country, had not expected danger, that he 
could not but conceive that the assailant had mistaken 


him for another. In the moment, therefore, he ap- 
pealed to him. 

" Thou hast erred, stranger. I am not he thou 

" Thou liest," was the grim response of Grayson. 

" Ha ! who art thou ?" 

" Thy enemy — in life, in death, through the past, 
and for the long future, though it be endless, — still 
thine enemy. I hate — I will destroy thee. Thou 
hast lain in my path — thou hast darkened my hope — 
thou hast doomed me to eternal wo. Shalt thou have 
what thou hast denied me ? Shalt thou live to win 
where I have lost? No — I have thee. There is no 
aid for thee. In another moment, and I am revenged. 
Die — die like a dog, since thou hast doomed me to 
live, and to feel like one. Die !" 

The uplifted eyes of Harrison beheld the blade 
descending in the strong grasp of his enemy. One 
more effort, one last struggle, for the true mind never 
yields. While reason lasts, hope lives, for the natural 
ally of human reason is hope. But he struggled in 
vain. The hold taken by his assailant was unrelax- 
ing — that of iron ; and the thoughts of Harrison, 
though still he struggled, were strangely mingling 
with the prayer, and the sweet dream of a passion, 
now about to be defrauded of its joys for ever; — but, 
just at the moment when he had given himself up as 
utterly lost, the grasp of his foe was withdrawn.- The 
criminal had relented— the guardian conscience had 
resumed her sway in time for the safety of both the 
destroyer and his victim. And what a revulsion of 
feeling and of sense ! How terrible is passion — how 
terrible in its approach — how more terrible in its pas- 
sage and departure ! The fierce madman, a moment 
before ready to drink a goblet-draught from the heart 
of his enemy, now trembled before him, like a leaf 
half detached by the frost, and yielding at the first 
breathings of the approaching zephyr. Staggering 
back as if himself struck with the sudden shaft of 
death, Grayson sunk against the tree from which he 


had sprung in his first assault, and covered his hands 
in agony. His breast heaved like a wave of the ocean 
when the winds gather in their desperate frolic over 
its always sleepless bosom ; and his whole frame was 
rocked to and fro, with the moral convulsions of his 
spirit. Harrison rose to his feet the moment he had 
been released, and with a curiosity not linmingled with 
caution, approached the unhappy man. 

"What! Master Hugh Grayson!" he exclaimed 
naturally enough, as he found out who he was, " what 
has tempted thee to this madness — wherefore?" 

" Ask me not — ask me not — in mercy, ask me not. 
Thou art safe, thou art safe. I have not thy blood 
upon my hands ; thank God for that. It was her 
blessing that saved thee — that saved me ; oh, mother, 
how I thank thee for that blessing. It took the mad- 
ness from my spirit in the moment when I would have 
struck thee, Harrison, even with as fell a joy as the 
Indian strikes in battle. Go — thou art safe.— Leave 
me, I pray thee. Leave me to my own dreadful 
thought — the thought which hates, and would just now 
have destroyed thee." 

" But wherefore that thought, Master Grayson 1 
Thou art but young to have such thoughts, and shouldst 
take counsel — and why such should be thy thoughts 
of me, I would know from thy own lips, which have 
already said po much that is strange and unwelcome." 

" Strange, dost thou say," exclaimed the youth with 
a wild grin, " not strange — not strange. But go — go — 
leave me, lest the dreadful passion come back. Thou 
didst wrong me — thou hast done me the worst of 
wrongs, though, perchance, thou knowest it not. But 
it is over how — thou art safe. I ask thee not to for- 
give, but if thou wouldst serve me, Master Harri- 
son — " 

" Speak !" said the other, as the youth paused. 

" If thou wouldst serve me, — think me thy foe, thy 
deadly foe ; one waiting and in mood to slay, and so 
thinking, as one bound to preserve himself at all haz- 
ard, use thy knife upon my bosom now, as I would 



have used mine upon thee. Strike, if thou wouldst 
serve me." And he dashed his hand upon the bared 
breast violently as he spoke. 

" Thou art mad, Master Grayson, — to ask of me to 
do such folly. Hear me but a while"— 

But the other heard him not,— he muttered to himself 
.half incoherent words and sentences. 

" First suicide — miserable wretch, — and then, God 
of Heaven ! that I should have been so nigh to mur- 
der," and he sobbed like a child before the man he had 
striven to slay, until pity had completely taken the 
place of every other feeling in the bosom of Harrison. 
. At that moment the waving of a torch-light appeared 
through the woods at a little distance. The criminal 
started as if in terror, and was about to fly from the 
spot, but Harrison interposed and prevented him. 

» Stay, Master Grayson— go not. The light comes 
in the hands of thy brother, who is to put me across 
the river. Thou wilt return with him, and may thy 
mood grow gentler, and thy thoughts wiser. Thou 
hast been rash and foolish, but I mistake not thy na- 
ture, which I hold meant for better things.— I regard 
it not, therefore, to thy harm ; and to keep thee from 
a thought which will trouble thee more than it can 
harm me now, I will crave of thee to lend all thy aid 
to assist thy mother from her present habitation, as 
she has agreed, upon the advire of thy brother and 
myself. Thou wast not so minded this morning, so 
thy brothel assured me; but thou wilt take my word 
for it that the remove has grown essential to her safety. 
Walter will tell thee all. In the meanwhile, what has 
passed between us we hold to ourselves ; and if, as 
thou hast said, thou hast had wrong at my hands, thou 
shalt have right at thy quest, when other duties will 
allow." . ■ 

" Enough, enough !" cried the youth m a low tone 
impatiently, as he beheld his brother, carrying a torch, 
emerge from the cover. 

" How now, Master Walter— thou hast been slug- 
gard, and bat for thy younger brother, whom I find a 
Vol. II. 


pleasant gentleman, I should have worn out good-hu- 
mour in seeking for patience." 

" What, Hugh here !" Walter exclaimed, regarding 
his brother with some astonishment, as he well knew 
the dislike in which he held Harrison. 

"Ay," said the latter," and he has grown more rea- 
sonable since morning, and is now, — if I so understand 
him — not unwilling to give aid in thy mother's remove. 
But come — let us away — we have no time: for the fire. 
Of the horse, thy brother will take charge — keep him 
not here for me, but let him bear thy mother to the 
Block House. She will find him gentle. And now, 
Master Grayson — farewell ! I hope to know thee bet- 
ter on my return, as I desire thou shalt know me. 

Concealed in the umbrage of the depending shrub- 
bery, a canoe lay at the water's edge, into which Har- 
rison leaped, followed by the elder Grayson. They 
were soon off — the skiff, like a fairy bark, gliding 
almost noiselessly across that Indian river. Watching 
their progress for a while, Hugh Grayson lingered, 
until the skiff became a «peck, then, with strangely 
mingled feelings of humiliation and satisfaction, leap- 
ing upon the steed which had been given him in 
charge, he took his way to the dwelling of his mother. 


" Be thy teeth firmly set ; the time is come 
To rend and trample. We are ready all, 
All, but the victim." 

At dark, Sanutee, Ishiagaska, Enoree-Mattee, the 
prophet, and a few others of the Yemassee chiefs and 
leaders, having the same decided hostilities to the 
Carolinians, met at the lodge of Ishiagaska, in the 
town of Pocota-ligo, and discussed their farther prep- 


arations at some length. The insurrection was at 
hand. All the neighbouring tribes, without an excep- 
tion, had pledged themselves for the common object, 
and the greater number of those extending over Geor- 
gia and Florida, were also bound in the same dreadful 
contract. The enemies of the settlement, in this con- 
spiracy, extended from Cape Fear to the mountains of 
Apalachy, and the disposable force of the Yemassees, 
under this league, amounted to at least six thousand 
warriors. These forces were gathering at various points 
according to arrangement, and large bodies from sundry 
tribes had already made their appearance at Pocota- 
ligo, from which it was settled the first blow should be 
given. Nor were the Indians, thus assembling, bow- 
men merely. The Spanish authorities of St. Augus- 
tine, who were at the bottom of the conspiracy, had 
furnished them with a considerable supply of arms, 
and the conjecture of Harrison rightly saw in the 
boxes transferred by Chorley the seaman to the Ye- 
massees, those weapons of massacre which the policy 
of the Carolinians had withheld! These, however, 
were limited to the forest nobility — the several chiefs 
bound in the war ; — -to the commons, a knife or toma- 
hawk was the assigned, and, perhaps, the more truly 
useful present. A musket, at that period, in the hands 
of the unpractised savage, was not half so dangerous 
as a bow. To these warriors we must add the pi- 
rate Chorley — a desperado in every sense of the word, 
a profligate boy, a vicious and outlawed man — daring, 
criminal, and only engaging in the present adventure 
in the hope of the spoil and plunder which he hoped 
from it. In the feeble condition of the infant colony 
there was no great risk in his present position. With- 
out vessels of war of any sort, and only depending 
upon the mother country for such assistance, when- 
ever a French or Spanish invasion took place, while 
British aid was in the neighbourhood, the province 
was lamentably defenceless. The visit of Chorley, in 
reference to this weakness, had been admirably well- 
timed. He had waited until the departure of the 


Swallow, the English armed packet, which periodi 
cally traversed the ocean with advices from the sove- 
reign to the subject. He then made his appearance, 
secure from that danger, and, indeed, if we may rely 
upon the historians of the period, almost secure from 
any other ; for we are told that in their wild abodes, 
the colonists were not always the scrupulous moralists 
which another region had made them. They did not 
scruple at this or that sort of trade, so long as it was 
profitable ; and Chorley, the pirate, would have had no 
difficulty, as he well knew by experience, so long as 
he avoided any overt performance, forcing upon the 
public sense a duty, which many of the people were 
but too well satisfied when they could avoid. It did 
not matter to many among those with whom he pursued 
his traffic, whether or not the article which they pro- 
cured at so cheap a rate had been bought with blood 
and the strong hand. It was enough that the goods 
were to be had when wanted, of as fair quality, and 
fifty per cent, cheaper than those offered in the legiti- 
mate course of trade. To sum up all in little, our 
European ancestors were, in many respects, monstrous 
great rascals. 

Chorley was present at this interview with the insur- 
rectionary chiefs of Yemassee, and much good counsel 
he gave them. The meeting was preparatory, and 
here they prepared the grand mouyement, and settled the 
disposition of the subordinates. Here they arranged 
all those small matters of etiquette beforehand, by which 
to avoid little jealousies and disputes among their auxil- 
iaries ; for national pride, or rather the great glory of 
the clan, was as desperate a passion with the southern 
Indians, as with the yet more breechless Highlanders. 
Nothing was neglected in this interview which, to the 
deliberate mind, seemed necessary to success ; and 
they were prepared to break up in order to the general 
assemblage of the people, to whom the formal and of- 
ficial announcement was to be given, when Ishiagaska 
recalled them to a matter which, to that fierce Indian, 
seemed much more important than any. Chorley 


looked on the animated glance — ^the savage grin,-r- and 
though he knew not the signification of the words, he 
yet needed no interpreter to convey to him the purport 
of his speech. 

" The dog must smell the blood, or he tears not the 
throat. Ha ! shall not the War-Manneyto have a 
feast ?" 

Sanutee looked disquieted but said nothing, while 
the eye of Ishiagaska followed his glance and seemed 
to search him narrowly. He spoke again, approaching 
the " well-beloved :" 

, " The Yemassee hath gone on the track of the Swift 
Foot, and the English has run beside him. They have 
taken a name from the pale-face and called him brother. 
Brother is a strong word for Yemassee, and he must 
taste of his blood) or he will not hunt after the English. 
The War-Manneyto would feast upon the heart of a 
pale-face, to make strong the young braves of Ye- 

?f It is good— let the War-Manneyto have the feast 
upon the heart of the English !" exclaimed the prophet, 
and such seeming the general expression, Sanutee 
yielded, though reluctantly. They left the lodge, and 
in an hour a small party of young warriors, to whom, 
in his wild, prophetic manner Enoree-Mattee had re- 
vealed the requisitions of the God he served, went forth 
to secure an English victim for the dreadful propitia- 
tory sacrifice they proposed to offer, in the hope of 
success, to the Indian Moloch. , 

This done, the chiefs distributed themselves among 
the several bands of the people and their allies, stimu- 
lating by their arguments and eloquence, the fierce 
spirit which they now laboured to evoke in storm and 
tempest. We leave them to return to Harrison. 

The adventure he was now engaged in was suf- 
ficiently perilous. He knew the danger, and also felt 
that there were particular responsibilities in his case 
which increased it greatly. With this consciousness 
came a proportionate degree of caution. He was 
shrewd to a proverb among those who knew him — 


practised considerably in Indian manoeuvre — had been 
with them in frequent conflict, and could anticipate 
their arts — was resolute as well as daring, and with 
much of their circumspection, at the same time, had 
learned skilfully to imitate the thousand devices of 
stratagem and concealment which make the glory of 
the Indian brave. Having given as fair a warning as 
was in his power to those of his countrymen most im- 
mediately exposed to the danger, he was less reluctant 
to undertake the adventure. But had he been con- 
scious of the near approach of the time fixed on by the 
enemy for the explosion — could he have dreamed that 
it was so extensive and so near at hand, his attitude 
would have been very different indeed. But this was 
the very knowledge for the attainment of which he had 
taken his present journey. The information sought 
was important in determining upon the degree of effort 
necessary to the defence. 

It was still early evening, when the canoe of Gray- 
son, making into a little cove about a mile and a half 
below Pocota-ligo, enabled Harrison to land. With a 
last warning to remove as quickly as possible, and to 
urge as many more as he could to the shelter of the 
Block House, he left his companion "to return to the 
settlement ; then plunging into the woods, and carefully 
making a sweep out of his direct course, in order to 
come in upon the back of the Indian town, so as to 
avoid as much as practicable the frequented paths, he 
went fearlessly upon his way. For some time, pro- 
ceeding with slow and heedful step, he went on without 
interruption, yet not without a close scrutiny into every 
thing he saw. One thing struck him, however, and 
induced unpleasant reflection. He saw that many of 
the dwellings which he approached were without fires, 
and seemed deserted. The inhabitants were gone — he 
met with none ; and he felt assured that a popular gath- 
ering was at hand or in progress. For two miles of 
his circuit he met with no sign of human beings ; and 
he had almost come to the conclusion that Pocota-ligo, 
which was only a mile or so farther, would be equally 


barren, when suddenly a torch flamed across his path, 
and with an Indian instinct he sunk back into the 
shadow of a tree, and scanned curiously the scene be- 
fore him. The torch grew into a blaze in a hollow of 
the wood, and around the fire he beheld, in various posi- 
tions, some fifteen or twenty warriors, making a small 
war encampment. Some lay at length, some " squat, 
like a toad," and all gathered around the friendly blaze 
which had just been kindled in time to prevent him 
from running headlong into the midst of them. From 
the shadow of the tree, which perfectly concealed him, 
he could see, by the light around which they clustered, 
not only the forms but the features of the warriors ; 
and he soon made them out to be the remnant of his 
old acquaintance, the Coosaws — who, after the dreadful 
defeat which they sustained at his hands in the forks 
of Tulifinnee, found refuge with the Yemassees, settled 
the village of Coosaw-hatchie, and being too small in 
number to call for the farther hostility of the Carolini- 
ans, were suffered to remain in quiet. But they har- 
boured a bitter malice toward their conquerors, and the 
call to the field against their ancient enemies was the 
sweetest boon that could be proffered to their hearts. 
With a curious memory which recalled vividly his past 
adventure with the same people, he surveyed their 
diminutive persons, their small, quick, sparkling eyes, 
the dusky, but irritably red features, and the querulous 
upward turn of the nose — a most distinguishing feature 
with this clan, showing a feverish quarrelsomeness of 
disposition, and a want of becoming elevation in pur- 
pose. Harrison knew them well, and his intimacy had 
cost them dearly. It was probable, indeed, that the 
fifteen or twenty warriors then grouped before him 
were all that they could send into the field — all that 
had survived, women and children excepted, the severe 
chastisement- which had annihilated them as a nation. 
But what they lacked in number they made up in 
valour — a fierce, sanguinary people, whose habits of 
restlessness and love of strife were a proverb even 
among their savage neighbours, who spoke of a ma- 


lignant man — one more so than usual, — as having a 
Coosaw's tooth. But a single warrior of this party was 
in possession of a musket, a huge, cumbrous weapon, 
of which he seemed not a little proud. He was prob- 
ably a chief. The rest were armed with bow and 
arrow, knife, and, here and there, a hatchet. The huge 
club stuck up conspicuously among them, besmeared 
with coarse paint, and surmounted with a human scalp, 
instructed Harrison sufficiently as to the purpose of 
the party. The war-club carried from hand to hand, 
and in this way transmitted from tribe to tribe, from 
nation to nation, by their swiftest runners, was a mode 
of organization not unlike that employed by the Scotch, 
for a like object, and of which the muse of Scott has 
so eloquently sung. The spy was satisfied with the 
few glances which he had given to this little party ; 
and as he could gather nothing distinctly from their 
language, which he heard imperfectly, and as imper- 
fectly understood, he cautiously left his place of con- 
cealment, and once more darted forward on his journey. 
Digressing from his path as circumstances or prudence 
required, he pursued his course in a direct line towards 
Pocota-ligo ; but had not well lost sight of the fire of 
the Coosaws, when another blaze appeared in the track 
just before him. Pursuing a like caution with that 
already given, he approached sufficiently nigh to dis- 
tinguish a band of Sewees, something more numerous 
than the Coosaws, but still not strong, encamping in 
like manner around the painted club, the common en- 
sign of approaching battle. He knew them by the 
number of shells which covered their garments, were 
twined in their hair, and formed a peculiar and favourite 
ornament to their persons, while at the same time, 
declaring their location. They occupied one of the 
islands which still bear their name — the only relics 
of a nation which had its god and its gjpries, and be- 
lieving in the Manneyto and a happy valley, can have 
no complaint that their old dwellings shall know them no 
more. The Sewees resembled the Coosaws in their 
general expression of face, but in person they were 



taller and more symmetrical, though slender. They 
did not exceed thirty in number. 

The precautions of Harrison were necessarily in- 
creased, as he found himself in such a dangerous 
neighbourhood, but still he felt nothing of apprehen- 
sion. He was one of those men, singularly constituted, 
in whom hope becomes a strong exciting principle, 
perpetually stimulating confidence and encouraging ad- 
venture into a forgetfulness of risk and general dis- 
regard to difficulty and opposition. On he went, until 
at the very entrance to the village he came upon an 
encampment of the Santees, a troop of about fifty 
warriors. These he knew by their greater size and 
muscle, being generally six feet or more in height, of 
broad shoulders, full, robust front, and forming not less 
in their countenances, which were clear, open and intel- 
ligent, than in their persons, a singular and marked con- 
trast to the Sewees and Coosaws. They carried, along 
with the bow, another — and in their hands a more for- 
midable weapon — a huge mace, four or five feet in 
length, of the heaviest wood, swelling into a huge 
lump at the remote extremity, and hanging by a thong 
of skin or sinews around their necks. A glance was 
enough to show their probable number, and desiring no 
more, Harrison sunk away from farther survey, and 
carefully avoiding the town, on the skirts of which he 
stood, he followed in the direction to which he was 
led by a loud uproar and confused clamour coming from 
it. This was the place of general encampment, a little 
above the village, immediately upon the edge of the 
swamp from which the river wells, being the sacred 
ground of Yemassee, consecrated to their several 
Manneytos of war, peace, punishment, and general 
power — which contained the great tumulus of Pocota- 
ligo, consecrated by a thousand awful sacrifices, for a 
thousand years preceding, and already known to us as 
the spot where Occonestoga, saved from perdition, met 
his death from the hands of his mother. 



" Battle-god Manneyto — 
Here's a scalp, 'tis a scull, 
This is blood, 'tis a heart, 
Scalp, scull, blood, heart, 

'Tis for thee, Manneyto — 'tis for thee, Manneyto — 
They shall make a feast for thee, 
Battle-god Manneyto." 

Yemassee War-Hymn. 

The preparatory rites of battle were about to take 
place around the tumulus. The warriors were about 
to propitiate the Yemassee God of War — the Battle- 
Manneyto — and the scene was now, if possible, more 
imposing than ever. It was with a due solemnity that 
they approached the awful rites with which they in- 
voked this stern principle — doubly solemn, as they 
could not but feel that the 'existence of their nation 
was the stake at issue. They were prostrate — the 
thousand warriors of Yemassee — their wives, their 
children — their faces to the ground, but their eyes up- 
ward, bent upon the cone of the tumulus, where 
^Jfaint flame, dimly flickering under the breath of the 
capricious winds, was struggling doubtfully into exist- 
ence. Enoree-Mattee the prophet stood in anxious 
attendance — the only person in the neighbourhood of 
the fire — for the spot upon which he stood was holy. 
He moved around it, in attitudes now lofty, now gro- 
tesque — now impassioned and now humbled — feeding 
the flame at intervals as he did so with fragments of 
wood, which had been consecrated by other rites, and 
sprinkling it at the same time with the dw«er> leaves of 
the native and finely odorous vanella, which diffused 
a grateful perfume upon the gale. All. this time he 
muttered a low, monotonous chant, which seemed an 
incantation — now and then, at pauses in his song, turn- 


ing to the gathered multitude, over whose heads, as 
they lay in thick groups around the tumulus, he ex- 
tended his arms as if in benediction. The flame 
all this while gathered but slowly, and this was matter 
of discontent to both prophet and people ; for the 
gathering of the fire was to indicate the satisfaction 
of the Manneyto with their proposed design. While 
its progress was doubtful, therefore, a silence entirely 
unbroken, and full of awe, prevailed throughout the 
crowd. But when it burst forth, growing and gather- 
ing — seizing with a ravenous rapidity upon the sticks 
and stubble with which it had been supplied — licking 
the long grass as it increased, and running down the 
sides of the tumulus, until it completely encircled the 
gorgeously decorated form of Enoree-Mattee as with a 
wreath of fire — when it sent its votive and odorous smoke 
in a thick, direct column, up to the heavens — a single, 
unanimous shout, that thrilled through and through the 
forest, even as the sudden uproar of one of its own 
terrible hurricanes, burst forth from that now exhilara- 
ted assembly, while each started at once to his feet, 
brandished his weapons with a fierce joy, and all 
united in that wild chorus of mixed strife and adorar 
tion, the battle-hymn of their nation : 

" Sangarrah-me, Yemassee, 
Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me — 

Battle-god Manneyto, 

Here's a scalp, here's a scull, 
This is blood, 'tis a heart, 
Scalp, scull, blood, heart, 
"Tis for thee, battle-god, 
'Tis to make the feast for thee, 
Battle-god, battle-god." 

And as they repeated the fierce cry of onset, the 
war-whoop of the Yemassees, another shout in chorus 
followed from the great mass of the people beyond. 
This cry, ■ carried onward by successive groups pre- 
viously stationed for that purpose, was announced to 
the various allies in their different encampments, and 
was equivalent to a permission of the Yemassee god 
that they should appear, and join in the subsequent 


ceremonial — a ceremonial which now affected them 
equally with the Yemassees. * 

They came at length, the great body of that fierce 
but motley gathering. In so many clans, each marched 
apart, with the distinct emblem of its tribe. There 
came the subtle and the active Coosaw, with his small 
flaming black eye, in which gathered the most malig- 
nant fires. A stuffed rattlesnake in coil, with protruded 
fang, perched upon a staff, formed their emblem, and 
no bad characteristic, for they were equally fearless 
and equally fatal with that reptile. Then came the 
Combahee and the Edistoh, the. Santee and the Seratee 
— the two latter kindred tribes bearing huge clubs, 
which they wielded with equal strength and agility, in 
addition to the knife and bow. Another and another 
cluster forming around, completed a grouping at 
once imposing and unique, — each body, as they sever- 
ally came to behold the sacred fire, swelling upwards 
from the mound, precipitating themselves upon the 
earth, where first it met their sight. The prophet still 
continued his incantations, until, at a given signal, 
when Sanutee, as chief of his people, ascended the 
tumulus, and bending his form reverently as he did 
so, approached him to know the result of his auguries. 
The appearance of the old chief was haggard in the 
extreme — his countenance bore all the traces of that 
^nxiety which, at such a moment, the true patriot 
would be likely to feel — and a close eye might discern 
evidences of a deeper feeling working at his heart, 
equally vexing and of a more personal nature. Still 
his manner was firm and nobly commanding. He 
listened to the words of the prophet, which were in 
their own language. Then advancing in front, the 
chief delivered his response to the people. It was 
auspicious — Manneyto had promised them success 
against their enemies, and their offerings had all been 
accepted. He required but another, and that the 
prophet assured them was at hand. Again the shout 
went up to heaven, and the united warriors clashed 
their weapons, and yelled aloud the triumph which 
they anticipated over their foes. 


In a neighbouring copse, well concealed by the 
fchicket, lay the person of Harrison. From this spoi 
he surveyed the entire proceedings. With the aid of 
their numerous fires, he calculated their numbers and 
the different nations engaged, whose emblems he gen- 
erally knew, and listened impatiently for some eviden- 
ces of their precise intention ; but as they spoke only 
in their own, or a mixed language of the several tribes, 
he almost despaired of any discovery of this kind, 
which would serve him much, when a new party ap- 
peared upon the scene, in the person of Chorley the 
captain of the sloop. He appeared dressed in a some- 
what gaudy uniform — a pair of pistols stuck in his 
belt — a broad short sword at his side, and dagger — 
and, though evidently in complete military array, with- 
out having discarded the rich golden chain, which 
hung suspended ostentatiously from his thick, short, 
bull-shaped neck. The guise of Chorley was Spanish, 
and over his head, carried by one of his seamen in a 
group of twenty of them, which followed him, he bore 
the flag of Spain, and this confirmed Harrison in all 
his apprehensions. He saw that once again the 
Spaniard was about to strike the colony, in assertion 
of an old claim put in by his monarch to all the coun- 
try then in the possession of the English, northward 
as far as Virginia, and to the southwest the entire 
range, including the Mississippi and some even of the 
territory beyond it, in the vague vastness of geo- 
graphical imaginings at that period. In support of this 
claim, which, under the existing circumstances of 
European convention, the Spanish monarch could not 
proceed to urge by arms in any other manner — the two 
countries being then at peace at home — the governor 
■of the one colony, that of Spain, was suffered and 
instigated to do that which his monarch immediately 
3ared not ; and from St. Augustine innumerable inroads 
were daily projected into Georgia and the Carolinas, 
penetrating with their Indian allies, in some instances 
almost to the gates of Charlestown. The Carolinians 
were not idle, and similar inroads were made upon 


Florida ; the two parents looking quietly on the strife 
of the colonies, as it gratified the national animosity 
of either nation, who, seeming quiet enough at home,, 
yet mutually contributed to the means of annoyance 
and defence, as their colonies severally needed them. 
This sort of warfare had been continued almost from 
the commencement of either settlement, and the result 
was a system of foray into the enemy's province from 
time to time — now of the Spaniards, and now of the 

Harrison was soon taught to see by the evidence 
before him, that the Spaniard on the present occasion 
had more deeply matured his plans than he had ever 
anticipated ; and that— taking advantage of the known 
discontents among the Indians, and of that unwise ces- 
sation of watchfulness, which too much indicated the 
confiding nature of the Carolinians, induced by a term 
of repose, protracted somewhat longer than usual — he 
had prepared a mine which he fondly hoped, and with 
good reason, would result in the utter extermination 
of the intruders, whom they loved to destroy, as on 
one sanguinary occasion their own inscription phrased 
it, not so much because they were Englishmen, as 
"because they were heretics." His success in the 
present adventure, he felt assured, and correctly, 
A\ould place the entire province in the possession, as 
in his thought it was already in the right, of his most 
Catholic Majesty. 

Captain Chorley, the bucanier and Spanish emis- 
sary, for, in those times and that region, the two char- 
acters were not always unlike, advanced boldly into the 
centre of the various assemblage. He was followed 
by twenty stout seamen, the greater part of his crew. 
These were armed chiefly with pikes and cutlasses. 
A few carried pistols, a few muskets ; but, generally 
speaking, the larger arms seemed to have been re- 
garded as unnecessary, and perhaps inconvenient, in 
an affair requiring despatch and secrecv. As he ap- 
proached, Sanutee descended from the mound and ad- 
vanced toward him, with a degree of respect, which, 


while it was marked and gracious, subtracted nothing 
from the lofty carriage and the towering dignity 
which at the same time accompanied it. In a few 
words of broken English, he explained to Chorley 
sundry of their present and future proceedings — de- 
tailed what was required of him, in the rest of the 
ceremony ; and having made him understand, which 
he did with some difficulty, he reascended the mound, 
resuming his place at the side of the prophet, who, 
all the while, as if without noticing any thing going 
on around, had continued those fearful incantations to 
the war-god, which seemed to make of himself a vic- 
tim ; for his eye glared with the light of madness — 
his tongue hung forth between his clinched teeth, 
which seemed every moment, when parting and 
gnashing, as if about to sever it in two, while the sla- 
ver gathered about his mouth in thick foam, and all his 
features were convulsed. At a signal which he gave, 
while under this fury, a long procession of women, 
headed by Malatchie, the executioner, made their ap- 
pearance from behind the hill, and advanced into the 
area. In their arms six of them bore a gigantic figure, 
rudely hewn out of a tree, with a head so carved as 
in some sort to resemble that of a man. The hatchet 
and fire had chopped out the face, if such it may be 
called, and by means of one paint or another, it had 
been stained into something like expression. The 
scalp of some slaughtered enemy was stuck upon the 
scull, and made to adhere, with pitch extracted from 
the pine. The body, from the neck, was left unhewn. 
This figure was stuck up in the midst of the assembly, 
in the sight of all, while the old women danced in 
wild contortions around it, uttering, as they did so, a 
thousand invectives in their own wild language. 
They charged it with all offences comprised in their 
system of ethics. It was a liar, and a thief — a traitor, 
and cheat — a murderer, and without a Manneyto — in 
short, in a summary of their own — they called it 
•*' English — English — English." Having done this, 
ihey receded, leaving the area clear of all but the uncon- 


scious image which they had so denounced, and sinking 
back behind the armed circle, they remained in silence. 

Previously taught in what he was to do, Chorley now 
advanced alone, and striking a hatchet full in the face 
of the image, he cried aloud to the warriors around, 

" Hark, at this English dog ! I strike my hatchet 
in his scull. Who will do thus for the King of 
Spain ?" Malatchie acted as interpreter in the present 
instance, and the words had scarcely fallen from his 
lips, when Chinnabar, a chief of the Coosaws, his 
eyes darting fire, and his whole face full of malignant 
delight, rushed out from his clan, and seizing the 
hatchet, followed up the blow by another, which sunk 
it deeply into the unconscious block, crying aloud, as 
he did so, in his own language, 

" The Coosaw, — ha ! look, he strikes the scull of 
the English !" and the fierce war-whcop of " Coosaw — 
Sangarrah-me," followed up the speech. 

" So strikes the Cherah ! — Cherah-hah, Cherah- 
me !" cried the head warrior of that tribe, following 
the example of the Coosaw, and flinging his hatchet 
also in the scull of the image. Another and another, 
in ,like manner came forward, each chief, represent- 
ing a tribe or nation, being required to do so, showing 
his assent to the war ; until, in a moment of pause, 
believing that all were done, Chorley reapproached, 
and baring his cutlass as he did so, with a face full of 
the passion which one might be supposed to exhibit, 
when facing a deadly and a living foe, with a single 
stroke he lodged the weapon so deeply into the wood, 
that for a while its extrication was doubtful— at the 
same time exclaiming fiercely, 

" And so strikes Richard Chorley, not for Spain, nor 
France, nor Indian — not for any body, but on his own 
log — for his own wrong, and so would he strike again 
if the necks of all England lay under his arm." 

A strong armed Santee, who had impatiently waited 
his turn while Chorley spoke, now came forward with 
his club — a monstrous mace, gathered from the swamps, 
under the stroke of which the image went down pros- 


trate. Its fall was the signal for a general shout and 
tumult among the crowd, scarcely quieted, as a new 
incident was brought in to enliven a performance, 
which, though of invariable exercise among the prim- 
itive Indians, preparatory to all great occasions like 
the present, was yet too monotonous not to need, in the 
end, some stirring variation. 


"And war is the great Moloch; for his feast, 
Gather the human victims he requires, 
With an unglutted appetite. He- makes 
Earth his grand table, spread with winding-sheets, 
Man his attendant, who, with madness fit, 
Serves his own brother up, nor heeds the prayer, 
Groaned by a kindred nature, for reprieve." 

Blood makes the taste for blood — we teach the 
hound to hunt the victim, for whose entrails he acquires 
an appetite. We acquire such tastes ourselves from 
like indulgences. There is a sort of intoxicating 
restlessness in crime that seldom suffers it to stop at 
a solitary excess. It craves repetition — and the relish 
so expands with indulgence, that exaggeration becomes 
essential to make it a stimulant. Until we have 
created this appetite, we sicken at its bare contempla- 
tion. But once created, it is impatient of employ, 
and it is "wonderful to note its progress. Thus, tin 
young Nero wept when first called upon to sign tin 
warrant commanding the execution of a criminal. Bui 
the ice once broken, he never suffered it to clo*.- 
again. Murder was his companion — blood his ban- 
quet — his chief stimulant licentiousness — horrible li- 
centiousness. He had found out a new luxury. 

The philosophy which teaches this, is common to 
experience all the world over. It was not unknown 
to the Yemassees. Distrusting the strength of their 


hostility to the English, the chief instigators of the 
proposed insurrection, as we have seen, deemed it 
necessary to appeal to this appetite, along with a 
native superstition. Their battle-god called for a 
victim, and the prophet promulgated the decree. A 
chosen band of warriors was despatched to secure a 
white man ; and in subjecting him to the fire-torture, 
the Yemassees were to feel the provocation of that 
thirsting impulse which craves a continual renewal of 
its stimulating indulgence. Perhaps one of the most 
natural and necessary agents of man, in his progress 
through life, is the desire to destroy. . It is this which 
subjects the enemy — it is- this that prompts him to ad- 
venture — which enables him to contend with danger, 
and to flout at death— which carries him into the in- 
terminable forests, and impels the ingenuity into ex- 
ercise, which furnishes him with a weapon to contend 
with its savage possessors. It is not surprising, if, 
prompted by dangerous influences, in our ignorance, 
we pamper this natural agent into a disease, which 
preys at length upon ourselves. 

The party despatched for this victim had been suc- 
cessful. The peculiar cry was heard indicating their 
success; and as it rung through the wide area, the 
crowd gave way and parted for the new comers, who 
were hailed with a degree of satisfaction, extravagant 
enough, unless we consider the importance generally 
attached to their enterprise. On their procuring this 
victim alive, depended their hope of victory in the 
approaching conflict. Such was the prediction of the 
prophet — such the decree of their god of war — and 
for the due celebration of this terrible sacrifice, the 
preparatory ceremonies had been delayed. 

They were delayed no longer. With shrill cries 
and the most savage contortions, not to say convulsions 
of body, the assembled multitude hailed the entree of 
the detachment sent forth upon this expedition. They 
had been eminently successful ; having taken their 
captive, without themselves losing a drop of blood. 
Upon this, the prediction had founded their success. 


Not so the prisoner. Though unarmed he had fought 
desperately, and his enemies were compelled to wound 
in order to secure him. He was only overcome by 
numbers, and the sheer physical weight of their 
crowding bodies. 

They dragged him into the ring, the war-dance all 
the time going on around him. From the copse, close 
at hand, in which he lay concealed, Harrison could 
distinguish, at intervals, the features of the captive. 
He knew him at a glance, as a poor labourer, named 
Macnamara, an Irishman, who had gone jobbing 
about, in various ways, throughout the settlement. He 
was a fine-looking, fresh, muscular man — not more 
than thirty — and sustaining well, amid that fierce 
assemblage, surrounded with foes, and threatened with 
a torture to which European ingenuity could not often 
attain, unless in the Inquisitoral dungeons, the fearless 
character which is a distinguishing feature with his 
countrymen. His long, black hair, deeply saturated 
and matted with his blood, which oozed out from 
sundry bludgeon-wounds upon the head, was wildly 
distributed in masses over his face and forehead. His 
full, round cheeks, were marked by knife-wounds, 
also the result of his fierce defence against his captors. 
His hands were bound, but his tongue was unfettered ; 
and as they danced and howled about him, his eye 
gleamed forth in fury and derision, while his words 
were those of defiance and contempt. 

" Ay — screech and scream, ye red divils — ye'd be 
after seeing how a jontleman would burn in the fire, 
would ye, for your idification and delight. But its not 
Tedd Macnamara, that your fires and your arrows will 
scare, ye divils ; so begin, boys, as soon as ye've a 
mind to, and don't be too dilicate in your doings." 

He spoke a language, so far as they understood it, 
perfectly congenial with their notion of what should be- 
come a warrior. His fearless contempt of death, his 
haughty defiance of their skill in the arts of torture — 
his insolent abuse: — were all so much in his favour. 
They were proofs of the true brave, and thev found, 


under the bias of their habits and education, an added 
pleasure in the belief, that he would stand well the tor- 
ture, and afford them a protracted enjoyment of it. 
His execrations, poured forth freely as they forced him 
into the area, were equivalent to one of their own 
death-songs, and they regarded it as his. 

He was not so easily compelled in the required direc- 
tion. Unable in any other way to oppose them, he 
gave them as much trouble as he could, and in no way 
sought to promote his locomotion. This' was good 
policy, perhaps, for this passive resistance — the most 
annoying of all its forms, — was not unlikely to bring 
about an impatient blow, which might save him from 
the torture. In another case, such might have been 
the result of the course taken by Macnamara; but 
now, the prophecy was the object, and though roughly 
handled enough, his captors yet forbore any excessive 
violence. Under a shower of kicks, cuffs, and blows 
from every quarter, the poor fellow, still cursing them 
to the last, hissing at and spitting upon them, was 
forced to a tree ; and in a few moments tightly lashed 
back against it. A thick cord secured him around the 
body to its overgrown trunk, while his hands, forced 
up in a direct line above his head, were fastened to 
the tree with withes — the two palms turned outwards, 
nearly meeting, and so well corded as to be perfectly 
immovable. , 

A cold chill ran through all the veins of Harrison, 
and he grasped his knife with a clutch as tenacious as 
that of his fast-clinched teeth, while he looked, from his 
place of concealment, upon these dreadful preparations 
for the Indian torture. The captive was seemingly less 
sensible of its terrors. All the while, with a tongue 
that seemed determined to supply, so far as it might, 
the forced inactivity of all other members, he shouted 
forth his scorn and execrations. 

"The pale-face will sing his death-song," — in his 
own language cried a young warrior. 

" Ay, ye miserable red nagers, — ye don't frighten 
Tedd Macnamara now so aisily," he replied, though 


without comprehending what they said, yet complying 
as it were with their demand ; for his shout was now 
a scream, and his words were those of exulting supe- 

" It aint your bows and your arrows, ye nagers, 
nor your knives, nor your hatchets, that's going to 
make Teddy beg your pardon, and ax for yourmarcies. 
I don't care for your knives, and your hatchets, at all 
at all, ye red divils. Not I — by my faith, and my own 
ould father, that was Teddy before me." 

They took him at his word, and their preparations 
were soon made for the torture. A hundred torches 
of the gummy pine were placed to kindle in a neigh- 
bouring fire — a hundred old women stood ready to 
employ them. These were to be applied as a sort of 
cautery, to the arrow and knife-wounds which the 
more youthful savages were expected, in their sports, 
to inflict. It was upon their captives in this manner, 
that the youth of the nation was practised. It was in 
this school that the boys were prepared to become 
men — to inflict pain as well as to submit to it. To 
these two classes, — for this was one of the peculiar 
features of the Indian torture, — the fire-sacrifice, in its 
initial penalti 3s, was commonly assigned ; and both of 
them were nady at hand to commence it. How beat 
the heart of Harrison with conflicting emotions, in the 
shelter of the adjacent bush, as he surveyed each step 
in the prosecution of these horrors. 

They began. A dozen youth, none over sixteen, 
came forward and ranged themselves in front of the 

" And what for do ye face me down after that sort, 
ye little red nagers ?" cried the sanguine prisoner. 

They answered him with a whoop — a single shriek 
-^-and the face paled then, with that mimicry of war, of 
the man, who had been fearless throughout the real strife, 
and amid the many terrors which preceded it. The 
whoop was W.lowed by a simultaneous discharge of all 
their arrows, aimed, as would appear from the result, 
only at those portions of his person which were not vital. 


This was the common exercise, and their adroitness 
was wonderful. They placed the shaft where they 
pleased. Thus, the arrow of one penetrated one 
palm, while that of another, almost at the same instant, 
was driven deep into the other. One cheek was 
grazed by a third, while a fourth scarified the opposite. 
A blunted shaft struck him full in vhe mouth, and 
arrested, in the middle his usual execration — " You 
bloody red nagers," and there never were fingers of a 
hand so evenly separated one from the other, as those 
of Macnamara, by the admirably-aimed arrows of 
those embryo warriors. But the endurance of the 
captive was proof against all their torture ; and while 
every member of his person attested the felicity of 
their aim, he still continued to shout his abuse, not 
only to his immediate assailants, but to the old war- 
riors, and the assembled multitude, gathering around, 
and looking composedly on — now approving this or 
that peculiar hit, and encouraging the young beginner 
with a cheer. He stood all, with the most unflinching 
fortitude, and a courage that, extorting their freest admi- 
ration, was quite as much the subject of cheer with 
the warriors as were the arrow-shots which sometimes 
provoked its exhibition. 

At length, throwing aside the one instrument, they 
came forward with the tomahawk. They were far 
more cautious with this fatal weapon, for, as their 
present object was not less the prolonging of their 
own exercises than of the prisoner's tortures, it was 
their wish to avoid wounding fatally or even severely. 
Their chief delight was in stinging the captive into 
an exhibition of imbecile and fruitless anger, or terrify- 
ing him into ludicrous apprehensions. They had no 
hope of the latter source of amusement from the firm- 
ness of the victim before them ; and to rouse his impo- 
tent rage, was the study in their thought. 

With words of mutual encouragement, and boasting, 
garrulously enough, each of his superior skill, they 
strove to rival one another in the nicety of their aim 
and execution. The chief object was barely to miss 


the part at which they aimed. One planted the toma- 
hawk in the tree so directly over the head of his captive, 
as to divide the huge tuft of hair which grew massively 
in that quarter ; and great was their exultation and 
loud their laughter, when the head thus jeoparded, very 
naturally, under the momentary impulse, was writhed 
about from the stroke, just at the moment when another, 
aimed to lie on one side of his cheek, clove the ear 
which it would have barely escaped had the captive 
continued immoveable. Bleeding and suffering as he 
must have been with such infliction, not a solitary groan 
however escaped him. The stout-hearted Irishman 
continued to defy and to denounce his tormentors in 
language which, if only partially comprehended by his 
enemies, was yet illustrated with sufficient animation 
by the fierce light gleaming from his eye with a blaze 
like that of madness, and in the unblenching firmness 
of his cheek. 

" And what for do ye howl, ye red-skinned divils, as 
if ye never seed a jontleman in your born days before ? 
Be aisy, now, and shoot away with your piinted sticks, 
ye nagers, — shoot away and be cursed to ye ; sure it 
isn't Tedd Macnamara that's afeard of what ye can do, 
ye divils. If it's the fun ye're after now, honeys, — the 
sport that's something like — why, put your knife over 
this thong, and help this dilicate little fist to one of the 
bit shilalahs yonder. Do now, pretty crathers, do — 
and see what fun will come out of it. Ye'll not be 
after loving it at all at all, I'm a thinking, ye monkeys, 
and ye alligators, and ye red nagers, and them's the 
best names for ye, ye ragamuffin divils that ye are." 

There was little intermission in his abuse. It kept 
due pace with their tortures, which, all this time, con- 
tinued. The tomahawks gathered around him on every 
side ; and each close approximation of the instrument 
only called from him a newer sort of curse. Harrison 
admired, with a sympathy in favour of such indomitable 
nerve, which more than once prompted him to rush forth 
desperately in his behalf. But the madness of such a 
movement was too obvious, and the game proceeded 
without interruption. 



It happened, however, as it would seem in compli- 
ance with a part of one of his demands, that one of the 
tomahawks, thrown so as to rest betweenthe two up- 
lifted palms of the captive, fell short, and striking the 
hide, a few inches below, which fastened his wrists to 
the tree, entirely separated it, and gave freedom to his 
arms. Though still incapable of any effort for his 
release, as the thongs tightly girdled his body, and 
were connected on the other side of the tree, the fear- 
less sufferer, with his emancipated fingers, proceeded 
to pluck from his hands, amid a shower of darts, the 
arrows which had penetrated them deeply. These, 
with a shout of defiance, he hurled back upon his 
assailants, they answering in similar style with another 
shout and a new discharge of arrows, which penetrated 
his person in every direction, inflicting the greatest 
pain, though carefully avoiding any vital region. And 
now, as if impatient of their forbearance, the boys were 
made to give way, and each armed with her hissing 
and resinous torch, the old women approached, howling 
and dancing, with shrill voices and an action of body 
frightfully demoniac. One after another they rushed 
up to the prisoner, and with fiendish fervour, thrust the 
blazing torches to his shrinking body, wherever a knife, 
an arrow, or a tomahawk had left a wound. The tor- 
ture of this infliction greatly exceeded all to which he 
had been previously subjected ; and with a howl, the 
unavoidable acknowledgment forced from nature by the 
extremity of pain, scarcely less horrible than that which 
they unitedly sent up around him, the captive dashed 
out his hands, and grasping one of the most forward 
among his unsexed tormentors, he firmly held her with 
one hand, while with the other he possessed himself 
of the blazing torch she bore. Hurling her backward, 
in the next moment, among the crowd of his enemies, 
with a resolution from despair, he applied the torch to 
the thongs which bound him to the tree, and while his 
garments shrivelled and flamed, and while the flesh 
blistered and burned with the terrible application, reso- 
lute as desperate, he maintained it on the spot, until the 
withes crackled, blazed, and separated. 


His limbs were free — a convulsion of joy actually- 
rushed through his heart, and he shouted with a new 
tone, the result of a new and unimagined sensation. 
He leaped forward, and though the flames grasped and 
gathered in a thick volume, rushing from his waist to 
his extremities, completely enveloping him in their 
embrace, they offered no obstacle to the fresh impulse 
which possessed him. He bounded onward, with that 
over-head-and-heel evolution which is called the som- 
erset, and which carried him, a broad column of 
fire, into the very thickest of the crowd. They gave 
way to him on every side — they shrunk from that living- 
flame, which mingled the power of the imperial ele 
ment with the will of its superior, man. Panic-stricken 
for a few moments at the novel spectacle, they shrunk 
away on either hand before the blazing body, and offered 
no obstacle to his flight. 

But the old warriors now took up the matter. They 
had suffered the game to go on as was their usage, for 
the tutoring of the youthful savage in those arts which 
are to be the employment of his life. But their own 
appetite now gave them speed, and they soon gathered 
upon the heels of the fugitive. Fortunately, he was 
still vigorous, and his hurts were those only of the 
flesh. His tortures only stimulated him into a daring- 
disregard of any fate which might follow, and, looking 
once over his shoulder, and with a halloo not unlike 
their own whoop, Macnamara bounded forward directly 
upon the coppice which concealed Harrison. The 
latter saw his danger from this approach, but it was 
too late to retreat. He drew his knife and kept close 
to the cover of the fallen tree alongside of which he 
had laid himself down. Had the flying Macnamara 
seen this tree so as to have avoided it, Harrison might 
still have maintained his concealment. But the fugi- 
tive, unhappily, looked out for no such obstruction. He 
thought only of flight, and his legs were exercised at 
the expense of his eyes. A long-extended branch, 
shooting from the tree, interposed, and he saw it not. 
His feet were suddenly entangled, and he fell between 

Vol. II. 


the arm and the trunk of the tree. Before he could 
rise or recover, his pursuers were upon him. He had 
half gained his feet, and one of his hands, in promoting 
this object, rested upon the tree itself, on the opposite 
side of which Harrison lay quiet, while the head of 
Macnamara was just rising above it. At tha^t moment 
a tall chief of the Seratees, with a huge club, dashed 
the now visible scull down upon the trunk. The blow 
was fatal — the victim uttered not even a groan, and 
the spattering brains were driven wide, and into the 
upturned face of Harrison. 

There was no more concealment for him after that, 
and starting to his feet, in another moment his knife 
was thrust deep into the bosom of the astonished Sera- 
tee before he had resumed the swing of his ponder- 
ous weapon. The Indian sunk back, with a single 
cry, upon those who followed him — half paralyzed, 
with himself, at the new enemy whom they had con- 
jured up. But their panic was momentary, and the 
next instant saw fifty of them crowding upon the Eng- 
lishman. He placed himself against a tree, hopeless, 
but determined to struggle to the last. But he was 
surrounded in a moment — his arms pinioned from be- 
hind, and knives from all quarters glittering around 
him, and aiming at his breast. What might have been 
his fate under the excitement of the scene and circum- 
stances could well be said ; for, already, the brother 
chief of the Seratee had rushed forward with his up- 
lifted mace, and as he had the distinct claim to re- 
venge, there was no interference. Fortunately, how- 
ever, for the captive, the blow was stricken aside and 
intercepted by the huge staff of no less a person than 
the prophet. 

" He is mine — the ghost of Chaharattee, my brother, 
is waiting for that of his murderer. I must hang 
his teeth on my neck," was the fierce cry, in his own 
language, of the surviving Seratee, when his blow was 
thus arrested. But the prophet had his answer in a 
sense not to be withstood by the superstitious savage. 

" Does the prophet speak for himself or for Man- 


neyto ? Is Manneyto a woman that we may say, 
Wherefore thy word to the prophet ? Has not Man- 
neyto spoken, and will not the chief obey ? Lo ! this 
is our victim, and the words of Manneyto are truth. 
He hath said one victim — one English for the sacri- 
fice, — and but one before we sing the battle-song — 
before we go on the war-path of our enemies. Is not 
his word truth? This blood says it is truth. We 
may not slay another, but on the red trail of the Eng- 
lish. The knife must be drawn and the tomahawk 
lifted on the ground of the enemy, but the land of 
Manneyto is holy, save for his sacrifice. Thou must 
not strike the captive. He is captive to the Ye-. 

" He is the captive to the brown lynx of Seratee — 
is he not under his club ?" was the fierce reply. 

" Will the Seratee stand up against Manneyto 1 
Hear! That is his voice of thunder, and see, the eye 
which he sends forth in the lightning !" 

Thus confirmed in his words by the solemn augu- 
ries to which he referred, and which, just at that mo- 
ment came, as if in fulfilment and support of his deci- 
sion, the Seratee obeyed, while all around grew silent 
and serious. But he insisted that, though compelled 
to forbear his blood, he was at least his captive. This, 
too, the prophet denied. The prisoner was made such 
upon the sacred ground of the Yemassees, and was, 
therefore, doubly their captive. He was reserved for 
sacrifice to the Manneyto at the conclusion of their 
present enterprise, when his doom would add to the 
solemnity of their thanksgiving for the anticipated 



" Cords for the warrior — he shall see the fray 
His arm shall share not — a worse doom than death, 
For him whose heart, at every stroke, must bleed — 
Whose fortune is the stake, and yet denied 
All throw to win it." 

The war-dance was begun in the presence of the 
prisoner. He looked down upon the preparations for 
a conflict, no longer doubtful, between the savages 
and his people. He watched their movements, heard 
their arrangements, saw their direction, knew their de- 
sign, yet had no power to strike in for the succour or 
the safety of those in whom only he lived. What 
were his emotions in that survey ? Who shall describe 
them ? 

They began the war-dance, the young warriors, the 
boys, and women — that terrible but fantastic whirl — 
regulated by occasional strokes upon the uncouth 
drum and an attenuated blast from the more flexible 
native bugle. That dance of death — a dance, which, 
perfectly military in its character, calling for every 
possible position or movement common to Indian 
strategy, moves them all with an extravagant sort of 
grace ; and if contemplated without reference to the 
savage purposes which it precedes, is singularly pom- 
pous and imposing ; wild, it is true, but yet exceedingly 
'unaffected and easy, as it is one of the most familiar 
practices of Indian education. In this way, by ex- 
treme physical exercise, they provoke a required de- 
gree of mental enthusiasm. With this object the abo- 
rigines have many kinds of dances, and others of 
even more interesting character. Among many of 
the tribes these exhibitions are literally so many 
chronicles. They are the only records, left by tradi- 


tion, of leading events in their history which they 
were instituted to commemorate. An epoch in the 
national progress — a new discovery — a new achieve- 
ment was frequently distinguished by the invention of a 
dance or game, to which a name was given significant 
of the circumstance. Thus, any successful hunt, out 
of their usual routine, was imbodied in a series of 
evolutions or the gathering for a feast, exhibiting fre- 
quently in sport, what had really taken place. In 
this way, handed from tribe to tribe, and from genera- 
tion to generation, it constituted a portion, not merely 
of the history of the past, but of the education of the 
future. This education fitted them alike for the two 
great exercises of most barbarians, — the battle and the 
chase. The weapons of the former were also those 
of the latter pursuit, and the joy of success m either 
object was expressed in the same manner. The dance 
and song formed the beginning, as they certainly made 
the conclusion of all their adventures ; and whether in 
defeat or victory, there was no omission of the prac- 
tice. Thus we have the song of war — of scalp-taking 
— of victory — of death, not to speak of the thousand 
various forms by which their feelings were expressed 
in the natural progress of the seasons. These songs, 
in most cases, called for corresponding dances, and the 
Indian warrior, otherwise seeming rather a machine 
than a mortal, adjusted, on an inspiring occasion, the 
strain of the prophet and the poet, to the wild and vari- 
ous action of the Pythia. The elements of all uncul- 
tivated people are the same. The early Greeks, in 
their stern endurance of torment, in their sports and 
exercises, were exceedingly like the North American 
savages. The Lacedaemonians went to battle with 
songs and dances ; a similar practice obtained among 
the Jews ; and one peculiarity, alike, of the Danes and 
Saxons, was to usher in the combat with wild and dis- 
cordant anthems. 

The survey was curious to Harrison, but it was also 
terrible. Conscious as he was, not merely of his own, 
but of the danger of the colony, he could not help feel- 


ing the strange and striking romance of his situation. 
Bound to a tree — helpless, hopeless — a stranger, a 
prisoner, and destined to the sacrifice. The thick 
night around him — a thousand enemies, dark, dusky, 
fierce savages, half intoxicated with that wild physical 
action which has its drunkenness, not less than wine. 
Their wild distortions — their hell-enkindled eyes, their 
barbarous sports and weapons — the sudden and de- 
moniac shrieks from the women — the occasional burst 
of song, pledging the singer to the most diabolical 
achievements, mingled up strangely in a discord which 
had its propriety, with the clatter of the drum, and the 
long melancholy note of the bugle. And then, that 
high tumulus, that place of sculls — the bleached bones 
of centuries past peering through its sides, and speak- 
ing for the abundant fulness of the capacious mansion- 
house of death within. The awful scene of torture, 
and the subsequent unscrupulous murder of the heroic 
Irishman — the presence of the gloomy prophet in at- 
tendance upon the sacred fire, which he nursed care- 
fully upon the mound — the little knot of chiefs, con- 
sisting of Sanutee, Ishiagaska, and others, not to 
speak of the Spanish agent, Chorley — in close council 
in his sight, but removed from hearing — these, and the 
consciousness of his own situation, while they brought 
to his heart an added feeling of hopelessness, could 
not fail to awaken in his mind a sentiment of wonder 
and admiration, the immediate result of his excited 
thoughts and fancy. 

But the dance was over at a signal from the prophet. 
He saw that the proper feeling of excitation had been 
attained. The demon was aroused, and, once aroused, 
was sleepless. The old women waved their torches 
and rushed headlong through the woods — shouting 
and shrieking — while the warriors, they struck their 
knives and hatchets into the neighbouring trees, giving 
each the name of an Englishman, and howling out the 
sanguinary promise of the scalp-song, at every stioke 
inflicted upon the unconscious trunk. 

" Sangarrah-me, — Sangarrah-me, Yemassee" was the 


cry of each chief to his particular division ; and as they 
arranged themselves under their several commands 
Harrison was enabled to form some idea of the pro- 
posed destination of each party. To Ishiagaska and 
Uiorley, he saw assigned a direction which he readily 
conjectured would lead them to the Block House, and 
the settlement m the immediate neighbourhood. This 
was also to be inferred from the connexion of Chorlev 
with the command of Ishiagaska, as it-was not reason- 
able to suppose that the former would desire any duty 
carrying him far from his vessel. To another force 
the word Coosaw sufficiently indicated Beaufort as the 
point destined for its assault; and thus party after 
party was despatched in one direction or another until 
but a single spot of the whole colony remained unpro- 
vided with an assailant,— and that was Charlestown. 
Ihe reservation was sufficiently accounted for as 
Sanutee, and the largest division of the Yemassees re- 
mained unappropriated. The old chief had reserved 
this, the most dangerous and important part of the ad- 
venture, to himself. A shrill cry— an unusual sound- 
broke upon the silence, and the crowd was gone in 
that instant;— all the warriors, with Sanutee at their 
head. The copse concealed them from the sight of 
Harrison, who, in another moment, found himself 
more closely grappled than before. A couple of toma- 
hawks waved before his eves in the glare of the 
torches borne in the hands of 'the warriors who secured 
him. No resistance could have availed him, and 
cursing his ill fortune, and suffering the most excru- 
ciating of mental griefs as he thought of the progress 
■of the fate which threatened his people, he made a 
merit of necessity, and offering no obstacle to their 
will, he was carried to Pocota-ligo— bound with thongs 
and destined for the sacrifice which was to follow 
hard upon their triumph. Such was the will of the 
prophet of Manneyto, and ignorance does not often 
question the decrees of superstition. 

Borne back with the crowd, Harrison entered Poco- 
ta-hgo under a motley guard and guidance. He had 


been intrusted to the care of a few superannuated old 
warriors, who were deemed sufficient for the service 
of keeping him a prisoner ; but they were numerously 
attended. The mob of the Yemassees— for they had 
their mobs as well as the more civilized— consisted 
of both sexes ; and when we reflect upon the usual 
estimation placed upon women by all barbarous peo- 
ple, we shall not be surprised to know that, on the 
present occasion, the sex were by far the most noisy 
if not the most numerous. Their cries— savage and 
sometimes indecent gestures— their occasional brutal- 
ity, and the freedom and frequency with which they in- 
flicted blows upon the captive as he approached them 
on his way to prison, might find, with no little appro- 
priateness, a choice similitude in the blackguardism 
of the Eleusinian mysteries— the occasional exercises 
of a far more pretending people than that under our 
eye. They ran, many of them, with torches waving 
wildly above their heads, on each side of the prisoner, 
some urging him with blows and stripes, less danger- 
ous, it is true, than annoying. Many of them, in their 
own language, poured forth all manner of strains— 
chiefly of taunt and battle, but frequently of down- 
right indecency. And here we may remark, that it is 
rather too much the habit to speak of the Indians, at 
home and in their native character, as sternly and in- 
differently cold— people after the fashion of the elder 
Cato, who used to say that he never suffered his wife 
to embrace him, except when it thundered— adding, by 
way of jest, that he was therefore never happy except 
when Jupiter was pleased to thunder. We should be 
careful not to speak of them as we casually see 
them,— when, conscious of our superiority, and unia- 
miliarwith our language, they are necessarily taciturn, 
as it is the pride, of an Indian to hide his deficien- 
cies. With a proper policy, which might greatly ben- 
efit upon circulation, he conceals his ignorance in si- 
lence. In his own habitation, uninfluenced by drink or 
any form of degradation, and unrestrained by the pres- 
ence of superiors, he is sometimes even a jester— 


delights in a joke, practical or otherwise, and is not 
scrupulous about its niceness or propriety. In his 
council he is^fond of speaking — glories in long talks, 
and, as he grows old, if you incline a willing ear, even 
becomes garrulous. Of course, all these habits are 
restrained by circumstance. He does not chatter 
when he fights or hunts, and when he goes to make a 
treaty, never presumes to say more than he has been 
taught by his people. 

The customary habit of the Yemasaees was not 
departed from on the present occasion. The mob 
had nothing of forbearance toward the prisoner, and 
they showed but little taciturnity. Hootings and howl- 
ings— shriekings and shoutings — confused cries — 
yells of laughter — hisses of scorn — here and there a 
fragment of song, either of battle or ridicule, gather- 
ing, as it were, by a common instinct, into a chorus of 
fifty voices— most effectually banished silence from 
her usual night dominion in the sacred town of Pocota- 
ligo. In every dwelling— for the hour was not yet 
late — the torch blazed brightly — the entrances were 
thronged with their inmates, and not a tree but gave 
shelter to its own peculiar assemblage. Curiosity to 
behold a prisoner, destined by the unquestionable will 
of the prophet to the great sacrifice which gave grati- 
tude to the Manneyto for the victory which such a 

pledge was most confidently anticipated to secure, 

led them forward in droves ; so that, when Harrison 
arrived in the centre of the town, the path became 
almost entirely obstructed by the dense and still gath- 
ering masses pressing upon them. The way, indeed, 
would have been completely impassable but for the' 
hurrying torches carried forward by the attending 
women ; who, waving them about recklessly over the 
heads of the crowd, distributed the melted gum in 
every direction, and effectually compelled the more 
obtrusive to recede into less dangerous places. 

Thus marshalled, his guards bore the captive on- 
ward to the safe-keeping of a sort of block house — 
a thing of logs, rather more compactly built than was 


the wont of Indian dwellings usually, and without any 
aperture save the single one at which he was forced 
to enter. Not over secure, however, as a prison, it 
was yet made to answer the purpose, and what it 
lacked in strength and security was, perhaps, more 
than supplied in the presence of the guard put upon it. 
Thrusting their prisoner, through the narrow entrance, 
into a damp apartment, the earthen floor of which was 
strewn with pine trash, they secured the door with 
thongs on the outside, and with the patience of the 
warrior, they threw themselves directly before it. 
Seldom making captives unless as slaves, and the 
punishments of their own people being usually of a 
summary character, will account for the want of skill 
among the Yemassees in the construction of their dun- 
geon. The present answered all their purposes, sim- 
ply, perhaps, because it had answered the purposes of 
their fathers. This is reason enough, in a thousand 
respects, with the more civilized. The prison-house 
to which Harrison was borne, had been in existence 
a century. 


" Why, this is magic, and it breaks his bonds, 
It gives him freedom." 

Harrison was one of those true philosophers who 
know always how to keep themselves for better times. 
As he felt that resistance, at that moment, must cer- 
tainly be without any good result, he quietly enough 
suffered himself to be borne to prison. He neither 
halted nor hesitated, but went forward, offering no 
obstacle, with as much wholesome good-will and com- 
pliance as if the proceeding was perfectly agreeable 
to him. He endured, with no little show of patience, 
all the blows and bufFetings so freely bestowed upon 


him by his feminine enemies ; and if he did not alto- 
gether smile under the infliction, he at least took good 
care to avoid any ebullition of anger, which, as it was 
there impotent, must necessarily have been a weak- 
ness, and would most certainly have been entirely 
thrown away. Among the Indians, this was by far the 
better policy. They can admire the courage, though 
they hate the possessor. Looking round amid the 
crowd, Harrison thought he could perceive many evi- 
dences of this sentiment. Sympathy and pity he also 
made out, in the looks of a few. One thing he did 
certainly observe — a generous degree of forbearance, 
as well of taunt as of buffet, on the part of all the better 
looking among the spectators. Nor did he deceive 
himself. The insolent portion of the rabble formed a 
class especially for such purposes as the present ; and 
to them, its duties were left exclusively. The for- 
bearance of the residue looked to him like kindness, 
and with the elasticity of his nature, hope came with 
the idea. 

Nor was he mistaken. Many eyes in that assem- 
bly looked upon him with regard and commiseration. 
The firm but light tread of his step — the upraised, 
unabashed, the almost laughing eye — the free play into 
liveliness of the muscles of his mouth — sometimes 
curled into contempt, and again closely compressed, as 
in defiance — together with his fine, manly form and 
even carriage — were all calculated to call for the re- 
spect, if for no warmer feeling, of the spectators. 
They all knew the bravery of the Coosah-moray-te, or 
the Coosaw-killer — many of them had felt his kind- 
ness and liberality, and but for the passionate nation- 
ality of the Indian character, the sympathy of a few 
might, at that moment, have worked actively in his 
favour, and with the view to his release. 

There was one in particular, among the crowd, 
who regarded him with a melancholy satisfaction. It 
was Matiwan. As the whole nation had gathered to 
the sacred town, in which, during the absence of the 
warriors, they found shelter, she was now a resident 


of Pocota-ligo. One among, but not of the rabble, she 
surveyed the prisoner with an emotion which only 
the heart of the bereaved mother may define. " How 
like," she muttered to herself in her own language — 
" how like to the boy Occonestoga." And as she 
thought thus, she wondered if Harrison had a mother 
over the great waters. Sympathy has wings as well 
as tears, and her eyes took a long journey in imagina- 
tion to that foreign land. She saw the mother ot the 
captive with a grief at heart like her own ; and her 
own sorrows grew deeper at the survey. Then came 
a strange wish to serve that pale mother — to save her 
from an anguish such as hers : then she looked upon the 
captive, and her memory grew active ; she knew him 
— she had seen him before in the great town of the 
pale-faces — he appeared a chief among them, and so 
had been called by her father, the old warrior Etiwee, 
who, always an excellent friend to the English, had 
taken her, with the boy Occonestoga — then a mere 
boy — on a visit to Charlestown. She had there seen 
Harrison, but under another name. He had been kind 
to her father — had made him many presents, and the 
beautiful little cross of red coral, which, without know- 
ing any thing of its symbolical associations, she had 
continued to wear in her bosom, had been the gift of 
him who was now the prisoner to her people. She 
knew him through his disguise — her father would have 
known — would have saved him — had he been living. 
She had heard his doom denounced to take place on 
the return of the war-party : — she gazed upon the 
manly form, the noble features, the free, fearless 
carriage — she thought of Occonestoga — of the pale 
mother of the Englishman — of her own bereavement 
— and of a thousand other things belonging naturally to 
the same topics. The more she thought, the more her 
heart grew softened within her — the more aroused her 
brain — the more restless and unrestrainable her spirit. 
She turned away from the crowd as the prisoner 
was hurried into the dungeon. She turned away in an- 
guish of heart, and a strange commotion of thought. 


She sought the shelter of the neighbouring wood, 
and rambled unconsciously, as it were, among the old 
forests. But she had no peace — she was pursued by 
the thought which assailed her from the first. The 
image of Occonestoga haunted her footsteps, and she 
turned only to see his bloody form and gashed head for 
ever at her elbow. He looked appealingly to her, and 
she then thought of the English mother over the waters. 
He pointed in the direction of Pocota-ligo, and she 
then saw the prisoner, Harrison. She saw him in the 
dungeon, she saw him on the tumulus — the flames 
were gathering around him — a hundred arrows stuck 
in his person, and she beheld the descending hatchet, 
bringing him the coup de grace. These images were 
full of terror, and their contemplation still more phren- 
sied her intellect. She grew strong and fearless with 
the desperation which they brought, and rushing through 
the forest, she once more made her way into the 
heart of Pocota-ligo. 

The scene was changed. The torches were either 
burnt out or decaying, and scattered over the ground. 
The noise was over — the crowd dispersed and gone. 
Silence and sleep had resumed their ancient empire. 
She trod, alone, along the great thoroughfare of the 
town. A single dog ran at her heels, baying at inter- 
vals ; but him she hushed with a word of unconscious 
soothing — ignorant when she uttered it. There were 
burning feelings in her bosom, at variance with reason 
— at variance with the limited duty which she owed 
to society — at variance with her own safety. But 
what of these 1 There is a holy instinct that helps 
us, sometimes, in the face of our common standards. 
Humanity is earlier in its origin, and holier in its claims 
than society. She felt the one, and forgot to obey the 

She went forward, and the prison-house of the Eng- 
lishman, under the shelter of a father-oak — the growth 
of a silent century — .rose dimly before her. Securely 
fastened with stout thongs on the outside, the door was 
still farther guarded by a couple of warriors lying upon 


the grass before it. One of them seemed to sleep 
soundly, but the other was wakeful. He lay at length, 
however, his head upraised, and resting upon one ot 
his palms — his elbow lifting it from the ground. The 
other hand grasped the hatchet, which he employed 
occasionally in chopping the earth just before him 
He was musing rather than meditative, and the action 
of his hand and hatchet, capricious and fitful, indicated 
a want of concentration in his thought. This was in 
her favour. Still there was no possibility of present 
approach unperceived ; and to succeed in a determi 
nation only half-formed in her bosom, and in fact, un 
designed in her head, the gentle but fearless woman 
had resource to some of those highly ingenious arts, 
so well known to che savage, and which he borrows in 
most part from the nature around him. Receding, 
therefore, to a little distance, she carefully sheltered 
herself in a small clustering clump of bush and brush, 
at a convenient distance for her purpose, and proceeded 
more definitely to the adjustment of her design. 

Meanwhile, the yet wakeful warrior looked round 
upon his comrade, who lay in a deep slumber between 
himself and the dungeon entrance. Fatigue and pre- 
vious watchfulness had done their work with the veteran. 
The watcher himself began to feel these influences 
stealing upon him, though not in the same degree, 
perhaps, and with less rapidity. But, as he looked 
around, and witnessed the general silence, his ear 
detecting with difficulty the drowsy motion of the 
zephyr among the thick branches over head, as if that 
slept also — his own drowsiness crept more and more 
upon his senses. Nature is thronged with sympathies, 
and the undiseased sense finds its kindred at all hours 
and in every situation. 

Suddenly, as he mused, a faint chirp, that of a single 
cricket, swelled upon his ear from the neighbouring 
grove. He answered it, for great were his imitative 
faculties. He answered it, and from an occasional 
note, it broke out into a regular succession of chirp- 
ings, sweetly timed, and breaking the general silence 


of the night with an effect utterly indescribable, ex 
cept to watchers blessed With a quick imagination. 
To these, still musing and won by the interruption, he 
sent back a similar response ; and his attention was 
suspended, as if for some return. But the chirping died 
away in a click scarcely perceptible. It was succeeded 
after a brief interval, by the faint note of a mock-bird 
— a sudden note, as if the minstrel, starting from sleep, 
had sent it forth unconsciously, or, in a dream, had 
thus given utterance to some sleepless emotion. It 
was soft and gentle as the breathings of a flower 
Again came the chirping of the cricket — a broken 
strain — capricious in time, and now seeming near at 
hand, now remote and flying. Then rose the whiz- 
zing hum, as of a tribe of bees suddenly issuing from 
the hollow of some neighbouring tree ; and then, the 
clear, distinct tap of the woodpecker — once, twice, 
and thrice. Silence, then, — and the burden of the 
cricket was resumed, at the moment when a lazy stir 
of the breeze in the branches above him seemed to 
solicit the torpor from which it occasionally started. 
Gradually, the successive sounds, so natural to the 
situation, and so grateful and congenial to the ear of 
the hunter, hummed his senses into slumber. For a 
moment, his eyes were half re-opened, and he looked 
round vacantly upon the woods, and upon the dying 
flame of the scattered torches — and then upon his fast 
sleeping comrade. The prospect gave additional stim- 
ulant to the dreamy nature of the influences growing 
about and gathering upon him. Finally, the trees danced 
away from before his vision — the clouds came down 
close to his face ; and, gently accommodating his arm 
to the support of his dizzy and sinking head, he grad- 
ually and unconsciously sunk beside his companion, 
and, in a few moments, enjoyed a slumber as oblivious. 



" 'Tis freedom that she brings him, but the pass 
Is leaguered he must 'scape through. Foemen watch, 
Ready to strike the hopeless fugitive." 

With the repose to slumber of the warrior — the 
cricket and the bee, the mock-bird and the woodpecker, 
at once, grew silent. A few moments only had elapsed, 
when, cautious in approach, they made their simultane- 
ous appearance from the bush in the person of Mati- 
wan. It was her skill that had charmed the spirit of 
the watcher into sleep, by the employment of asso- 
ciations so admirably adapted to the spirit of the scene. 
With that ingenuity which is an instinct with the 
Indians, she had imitated, one after another, the various 
agents, whose notes, duly timed, had first won, then 
soothed, and then relaxed and quieted the senses of 
the prison-keeper. She had rightly judged in the em- 
ployment of her several arts. The gradual beatitude 
of mind and lassitude of body, brought about with 
inevitable certainty, when once we have lulled the 
guardian watchers of the animal, must always precede 
their complete unconsciousness ; and the art of the 
Indian, in this way, is often employed, in cases of 
mental excitation and disease, with a like object. The 
knowledge of the power of soothing, sweet sounds over 
the wandering mind, possessed, as the Hebrew strongly 
phrased it, of devils, was not confined to that people, 
nor to the melodious ministerings of their David. 
The Indian claims for it a still greater influence, when, 
with a single note, he bids the serpent uncoil from his 
purpose, and wind unharriiingly away from the bosom 
of his victim. 

She emerged from her place of concealment with a 
caution which marked something more of settled pur- 


pose than she had yet exhibited. She approached in 
the dim, flickering light, cast from the decaying torches 
which lay scattered without order along the ground. A 
few paces only divided her from the watchers, and she 
continued to approach, when one of them turned with 
a degree of restlessness, which led her to apprehend 
that he had awakened. She sunk back ldte a shadow, 
as fleet and silently, once more into the cover of the 
brush. But he still slept. She again approached — and 
the last flare of the torch burning most brightly before, 
quivered, sent up a little gust of flame, and then went 
out, leaving her only the star-light for her farther 
guidance. This light was imperfect, as the place of 
imprisonment lay under a thickly branching tree, and 
her progress was therefore more difficult. But, with 
added difficulty, to the strong mood, comes added 
determination. To this determination the mind of 
Matiwan brought increased caution ; and treading with 
the lightness of some melancholy ghost, groping at 
midnight among old and deserted chambers of the 
heart, the Indian woman stepped onward to her pur- 
pose over a spot as silent, if not so desolate. Carefully 
placing her feet so as to avoid the limbs of the sleep- 
ing guard — who lay side by side and directly across 
the door-way — a design only executed with great 
difficulty, she at length reached the door ; and drawing 
from her side a knife, she separated the thick thongs 
of skin which had otherwise well secured it. In 
another moment she was in the centre of the apart- 
ment and in the presence of the captive. 

He lay at length, though not asleep, upon the damp 
floor of the dungeon. Full of melancholy thought, 
and almost prostrate with despair, his mind and 
imagination continued to depict before his eyes the 
thousand forms of horror to which savage cruelty was 
probably, at that very moment, subjecting the form 
most dear to his affections, and the people at large, 
for whose lives he would freely have given up his own. 
He saw the flames of their desolation — he heard the 
cries of their despair. Their blood gushed along 


before his eyes, in streams that spoke to him appeal- 
ingly, at least, for vengeance. How many veins, the 
dearest in his worship, had been drained perchance 
to give volume to their currents. The thought was 
horrible, the picture too trying and too terrible for the 
contemplation of a spirit, which, fearless and firm, 
was yet gentle and affectionate. He covered his eyes 
with his extended palms, as if to shut from his physi- 
cal what was perceptible only to his mental vision. 

A gust aroused him. The person of Matiwan was 
before him, a dim outline, undistinguishable in feature 
by his darkened and disordered sight. Her voice, like 
a murmuring water lapsing away among the rushes, 
fell soothingly upon his senses. Herself half dream- 
ing — for her proceeding had been a matter rather of 
impulse than premeditation — the single word, so gently 
yet so clearly articulated, with which she broke in 
upon the melancholy musings of the captive, and first 
announced her presence, proved sufficiently the char- 
acteristic direction of her own maternal spirit. 

" Occonestoga !" 

" Who speaks V ' was the reply of Harrison, starting 
to his feet, and assuming an attitude of defiance and 
readiness, not less than doubt ; for he had now no 
thought but that of fight, in connexion with the Ye- 
massees. " Who speaks V 

" Ha !" and in the exclamation, we see the restored 
consciousness which taught her that not Occonestoga, 
but the son of another mother, stood before her. 

" Ha ! the Coosah-moray-te shall go," she said, in 
broken English. 

" Who — what is this ?" responded the captive, as he 
felt rather than understood the kindness of the tones 
that met his ear ; and he now more closely approached 
the speaker. 

" Hush," — she placed her hand upon his wrist, and 
looked to the door with an air of anxiety — then whus- 
peringly, urged him to caution. 

"Big warriors — tomahawks — they lie in the grass 
for the English." 


"And who art thou, — woman 1 Is it freedom— life ? 
cut the cords, quick, quick — let me feel my liberty." 
And as she busied herself in cutting the sinews that 
tightly secured his wrists, he scarcely forbore his show 
of impatience. 

" I am free — I am free. I thank thee, God — great, 
good Father, this is thy providence ! I thank — I praise 
thee ! And thou — who art thou, my preserver — but 
wherefore ask 1 . Thou art — " 

" It is Matiwan !" she said humbly. 

" The wife of Sanutee — how shall I thank — how 
reward thee, Matiwan !" ' 

" Matiwan is the woman of the great chief, Sanutee 
— she makes free the English, that has a look and a 
tongue like the boy Occonestoga." 

" And where is he, Matiwan — where is the young 
warrior 1 I came to see after him, and it is this brought 
me into my present difficulty." 

" Take the knife, English — take the knife. Look ! 
the blood is on the hand of Matiwan. It is the blood 
of the boy." 

" Woman, thou hast not slain him — thou hast not 
slain the child of thy bosom !" 

" Matiwan saved the boy," she said proudly. 

" Then he lives." 

" In the blessed valley with the Manneyto. He will 
build a great lodge for Matiwan." 

" Give me the knife." 

He took it hurriedly from her grasp, supposing 
her delirious, and failing utterly to comprehend the 
seeming contradiction in her language. She handed 
it to him with a shiver as she gave it up ; then, telling 
him to follow, and at the same time pressing her hand 
upon his arm by way of caution, she led the way to 
the entrance, which she had carefully closed after her 
on first entering. With as much, if not more caution 
than before, slowly unclosing it, she showed him, in 
•the dim light of the stars, the extended forms of the 
two keepers. They still slept, but not soundly ; and 
in the momentary glance which she required the 


captive to take, with all Indian deliberateness, she 
seemed desirous of familiarizing his glance with the 
condition of the scene, and with all those difficulties 
in the aspect of surrounding objects with which he 
was probably destined to contend. With the strong 
excitement of renewed hope, coupled with his con- 
sciousness of freedom, Harrison would have leaped 
forward ; but she restrained him, and just at that 
moment, a sudden, restless movement of one of the 
sleepers warned them to be heedful. Quick as thought, 
in that motion, Matiwan sunk back into the shadow 
of the dungeon, closing the door with the same im- 
pulse. Pausing, for a few moments, until the renewed 
and deep breathings from without reassured her, she 
then again led the way ; but, as she half opened the 
door, turning quietly, she said in a whisper to the im- 
patient Harrison, 

" The chief of the English — the pale mother loves 
him over the water ?" 

" She does, Matiwan — she loves him very much." 

"And the chief — he keeps her here — " pointing to 
her heart. 

" Always — deeply. I love her too, very much." 

" It is good. The chief will go on the waters — he 
will go to the mother that loves him. She will sing 
like a green bird for him, when the young corn comes 
out of the ground. So Matiwan sings for Occonestoga. 
Go, English — but look ! — for the arrow of Yemassee 
runs along the path." 

He pressed her hand warmly, but his lips refused all 
other acknowledgment. A deep sigh attested her own 
share of feeling in those references which she had 
made to the son in connexion with the mother. Then, 
once more unclosing the entrance, she stepped fear- 
lessly and successfully over the two sleeping sentinels. 

He followed her, but with less good fortune. Wheth- 
er it was that he saw not distinctly in that unaccustomed 
light, and brushed one of the men with his foot, or wheth- 
er he had been restless before, and only in an imperfect 
slumber just then broken, may not now be said ; but at 


that inauspicious moment he awakened. With wa- 
king comes instant consciousness to the Indian, who 
differs in this particular widely from the negro. He 
knew his prisoner at a glance, and grappled him, as he 
lay, by the leg. Harrison, with an instinct quite as 
ready, dashed his unobstructed heel into the face of the 
warrior, and though released, would have followed up 
his blow by a stroke from his uplifted and bared knife ; 
but his arm was held back by Matiwan. Her instinct 
was gentler and wiser. In broken English, she bade 
him fly for his life. His own sense taught him in an 
instant the propriety of this course, and before the 
aroused Indian could recover from the blow of his 
heel, and while he strove to waken his comrade, the 
Englishman bounded down, with a desperate speed, 
along the great thoroughfare leading to the river. 
The warriors were soon at his heels, but the generous 
mood of Matiwan did not rest with what she had 
already done. She threw herself in their way, and 
thus gained him some little additional time. But they 
soon put her aside, and their quick tread in the path- 
way taken by the fugitive warned him to the exercise 
of all his efforts. At the same time he coolly calcu- 
lated his course and its chances. As he thought thus 
he clutched the knife given him by Matiwan, with an 
emotion of confidence which the warrior must always 
feel, having his limbs, and grasping a weapon with 
which his hand has been familiar. "At least," thougl 
he, fiercely, — " they must battle for the life they take. 
They gain no easy prey." Thus did he console him- 
self; in his flight with his pursuers hard behind him. 
In his confidence he gained new strength ; and thus 
the well-exercised mind gives strength to the body 
which it informs. Harrison was swift of foot, also,-^ 
few of the whites were better practised or more ad- 
mirably formed for the events and necessities of forest 
life. But the Indian has a constant exercise which 
makes him a prodigy in the use of his legs. In a 
journey of day after day, he can easily outwind any 
horse. Harrison knew this, — but then he thought of 


his knife. They gained upon him, and, as he clutched 
the weapon firmly in his grasp, his teeth grew tightly 
fixed, and he began to feel the rapturous delirium 
which prefaces the desire for the strife. Still the 
river was not far off, and though galled at the necessity 
of flight, he yet felt what was due to his people, at 
that very moment, most probably, under the stroke of 
their savage butchery. He had no time for individual 
conflict, in which nothing might be done for them. 
The fresh breeze now swelled up from the river, and 
re-encouraged him. 

" Could I gain that," he muttered to himself, — 
" could I gain that, 1 were safe. Of God's surety, I may." 

A look over his shoulder, and a new start. They 
were behind him, but not so close as he had thought. 
Coolly enough he bounded on, thinking aloud : — 

" They cannot touch, but they may shoot. Well — 
if they do, they must stop, and a few seconds more 
will give me a cover in the waters. Let them shoot — 
let them shoot. The arrow is better than the stake ;" 
and thus muttering to himself, but in tones almost au- 
dible to his enemies, he kept his way with a heart 
somewhat lighter from his momentary effort at philos- 
ophy. He did not perceive that his pursuers had 
with them no weapon but the tomahawk, or his conso- 
lations might have been more satisfactory. 

In another moment he was upon the banks of the 
river; and there, ' propitiously enough, a few paces 
from the shore, lay a canoe tied to a pole that stood 
upright in the stream. He blessed his stars as he 
beheld it, and pausing not to doubt whether a paddle 
lay in its bottom or not, he plunged incontinently for- 
ward, wading almost to his middle before he reached 
it. He was soon snug enough in its bottom, and had 
succeeded in cutting the thong with his knife when 
the Indians appeared upon the bank. Dreading their 
arrows, for the broad glare of the now rising moon 
gave them sufficient light for their use had they been 
provided with them, he stretched himself at length 
along the bottom of the boat, and left it to the current, 


which set strongly downward. But a sudden plunge 
into the water of one and then the other of his pursuers, 
left him without the hope of getting off so easily. The 
danger came in a new shape, and he promptly rose to 
meet it. Placing himself in a position which would 
enable him to turn readily upon any point which they 
might assail, he prepared for the encounter. One of 
the warriors was close upon him — swimming lustily, 
and carrying his tomahawk grasped by the handle in 
his teeth. The other came at a little distance, and 
promised soon to be up with him. The first pursuer 
at length struck the canoe, raised himself sufficiently 
on the water for that purpose, and his left hand grasped 
one of the sides, while the right prepared to take the 
hatchet from his jaws. But with the seizure of the 
boat by his foe came the stroke of Harrison. His 
knife drove half through the hand of the Indian, who 
released his grasp with a howl that made his com- 
panion hesitate. Just at that instant a third plunge 
into the water, as of some prodigious body, called for the 
attention of all parties anew. The pursuers now be- 
came the fugitives, as their quick senses perceived a 
new and dangerous enemy in the black mass surging 
toward them, with a power and rapidity which taught 
them the necessity of instant flight, and with no half 
effort. They well knew the fierce appetite and the 
tremendous jaws of the native alligator, the American 
crocodile, — one of the largest of which now came 
looming toward them. Self-preservation was the 
word. The captive was forgotten altogether in their 
own danger ; and swimming with all their strength, and 
with all their skill, in a zigzag manner, so as to compel 
their unwieldy pursuer to make frequent and sudden 
turns in the chase, occasionally pausing to splash the 
water with as much noise as possible — a practice 
known to discourage his approach when not over-hun- 
gry — they contrived to baffle his pursuit, and half 
exhausted, the two warriors reached and clambered up 
the banks, just as their ferocious pursuer, close upon 
their heels, had opened his tremendous iaws, with an 


awful compass, ready to ingulf them. They were 
safe, though actually pursued even upon the shore for a 
brief distance by the voracious and possibly half-starved 
monster. But so was he safe — their captive. Paddling 
as well as he could with a broken flap-oar lying in the 
bottom of the boat, he shaped his course to strike at a 
po'nt as far down the river as possible, without nearing 
the pirate craft of Chorley. In an hour, which seemet 
to him an age, he reached the opposite shore, a few 
miles from the Block House, not much fatigued, and 
so far in perfect safety. 


" 'Tis an unruly mood, that will not hear, 
In reason's spite, the honest word of truth — 
Such mood will have its punishment, and time 
Is never slow to bring it. It will come." 

Let us somewhat retrace our steps, and go back to 
the time, when, made a prisoner in the camp of the 
Yemassees, Harrison was borne away to Pocota-ligo, 
a destined victim for the sacrifice to their god of vic- 
tory. Having left him, as they thought, secure, the 
war-party, consisting, as already described, of detach- 
ments from a number of independent, though neighbour- 
ing nations, proceeded to scatter themselves over the 
country. In small bodies, they ran from dwelling to 
dwelling with the utmost rapidity — in this manner, by 
simultaneous attacks, everywhere preventing anything 
like union or organization among the borderers. One 
or two larger parties were designed for higher enter- 
prises, and without permitting themselves to be drawn 
aside to these smaller matters, pursued their object 
with Indian inflexibility. These had for their object 
the surprise of the towns and villages ; and so great 
had been their preparations, so well conducted their 


whole plan of warfare, that six thousand warriors had 
been thus got together, and, burning and slaying, they 
had made their way, in the progress of this insurrec- 
tion, to the very gates of Charlestown — the chief, 
indeed the only town, of any size or strength, in the 
colony. But this belongs not to the narrative imme- 
diately before us. 

Two parties of some force took the direction given 
to our story, and making their way along the river 
Pocota-ligo, diverging for a few miles on the European 
side, had, in this manner, assailed every dwelling and 
settlement in their way to the Block House. One of 
these parties was commanded by Chorley, who, in ad- 
dition to his seamen, was intrusted with the charge of 
twenty Indians. Equally savage with the party which 
he commanded, the path of this ruffian was traced in 
blood. He offered no obstacle, to the sanguinary in- 
dulgence, on the part of the Indians, of their habitual 
fury in war ; but rather stimulated their ferocity by 
the indulgence of his own. Unaccustomed, however, 
to a march through the forests, the progress of the 
seamen was not so rapid as that of the other party 
despatched on the same route ; and many of the dwel- 
lings, therefore, had been surprised and sacked some 
time before the sailor commander could make his ap- 
pearance. The Indian leader who went before him 
was Ishiagaska, one of the most renowned warriors of 
the nation. He, indeed, was one of those who, ma- 
king a journey to St. Augustine, had first been seduced 
by the persuasions of the Spanish governor of that 
station — a station denounced by the early Carolinians, 
from the perpetual forays upon their borders, by land 
and sea, issuing from that quarter — as another Sallee. 
He had sworn fidelity to the King of Spain while 
there, and from that point had been persuaded to visit 
the neighbouring tribes of the Creek, Apalatchie, 
Euchee, and Cherokee Indians, with the war-belt, and 
a proposition of a common league against the English 
settlements — a proposition greedily accepted, when 
coming with innumerable presents of hatchets, knives, 

Vol. II 


nails, and gaudy dresses, furnished by the Spaniards, 
who well knew how to tempt and work upon the appe- 
tites and imagination of the savages. Laden with 
similar presents, the chief had returned home, and with 
successful industry had succeeded, as we have seen, 
aided by Sanutee, in bringing many of his people to a 
similar way of thinking with himself. The frequent 
aggressions of the whites, the cheats practised by some 
of their traders, and other circumstances, had strongly 
co-operated to the desired end; and with his desire 
satisfied, Ishiagaska now headed one of the parties 
destined to carry the war to Port Royal Island, sweep- 
ing the track of the Pocota-ligo settlements in his 
progress, and at length uniting with the main party of 
Sanutee before Charlestown. 

He was not slow in the performance of his mission ; 
but, fortunately for the English, warned by the counsels 
of Harrison, the greater number had taken timely 
shelter in the Block House, and left but their empty 
dwellings to the fury of their invaders. Still, there 
were many not so fortunate ; and plying their way 
from house to house in their progress, with all the 
stealth and silence of the cat, the Indians drove their 
tomahawk into many of the defenceless cotters who 
came imprudently to the door in recognition of the 
conciliating demand which they made for admission. 
Once in possession, their aim was indiscriminate 
slaughter, and one bed of death not unfrequently com- 
prised the forms of an entire family — husband, wife, 
and children. Sometimes they fired the dwelling into 
which caution denied them entrance, and as the inmates 
fled from the flames, stood in watch and shot them down 
with their arrows. In this way, sparing none, whether 
young or old, male or female, the band led on by Ishia- 
gaska appeared at length at the dwelling of the pastor. 
Relying upon his reputation with the Indians, and indeed 
unapprehensive of any commotion, for he knew nothing 
of their arts of deception, we have seen him steadily 
skeptical, and almost rudely indifferent to the advice 
of Harrison. Regarding the cavalier in a light some- 


what equivocal, it is more than probable that the 
source of the counsel was indeed the chief obstacle, 
with him, in the way of its adoption. Be that as it 
may, he stubbornly held out in his determination to 
abide where he was, though somewhat staggered in 
his confidence, when, in their flight from their own 
more exposed situation to the shelter of the Block 
House, under Harrison's counsel, the old dame Gray- 
son, with her elder son, stopped at his dwelling. He 
assisted the ancient lady to alight from her horse, and 
helped her into the house for refreshments, while her 
son busied himself with the animal. 

" Why, what's the matter, dame ? What brings you 
forth at this late season ? To my mind, at your time 
of life, the bed would be the best place, certainly," 
was the address of the pastor as he handed her some 

" Oh, sure, parson, and it's a hard thing for such as 
me to be riding about the country on horseback at any 
time, much less at night — though to be sure Watty 
kept close to the bridle of the creature, which you 
see is a fine one, and goes like a cradle." 

" Well, but what brings you out ? — you have not told 
me that, yet. Something of great moment, doubtless." 

" What, you haven't heard ? Hasn't the captain 
told you ? Well, that's strange ! I thought you'd be 
one of the first to hear it all, — seeing that all say he 
thinks of nobody half so much as of your young lady 
there. Ah ! my dear — well, you needn't blush now, 
nor look down, for he's a main fine fellow, and you 
couldn't find a better in a long day's journey." 

The pastor looked grave, while the old dame, whose 
tongue always received a new impulse when she met 
her neighbours, ran on in the most annoying manner. 
She stopped at last, and though very readily conjectur- 
ing now the occasion of her flight, he did not conceive 
it improper to renew his question. 

"Well, as I said, it's all owing, to the captain's ad- 
vice — Captain Harrison, you know — a sweet gentle- 
man that, as ever lived. He it was — he came to me 


this morning, and he went to all the neighbours, and 
looked so serious — you know he don't often look serious 
— but he looked so serious as he told us all about the 
savages — the Yemassees, and the Coosaws — how they 
were thinking to rise and tomahawk us all in our beds ; 
and then he offered to lend me his horse, seeing I had 
no creature, and it was so good of him — for he knew 
how feeble I was, and his animal is so gentle and easy." 

" And so, with this wild story, he has made you 
travel over the country by night, when you should 
be in your bed. It is too bad — this young man 
takes quite too many liberties." 

" Why, how now, parson — what's the to-do betwixt 
you and the captain ?" asked the old lady in astonish- 

" None — nothing of any moment," was the grave 
reply. "I only think that he is amusing himself at 
our expense, with a levity most improper, by alarm- 
ing the country." 

" My ! — and you think the Indians don't mean to 
attack and tomahawk us in our beds ?" 

" That is my opinion, dame — I see no reason why 
they should. It is true, they have had some difficulties 
with the traders of late, but they have been civil to us. 
One or more have been here every day during the 
last week, and they seemed then as peaceably disposed 
as ever. They have listened with much patience to 
my poor exhortations, and, I natter myself, with profit 
to their souls and understandings. I have no appre- 
hensions myself; though, had it been left to Bess and 
her mother, like you, we should have been all riding 
through the woods to the Block House, with the pleas- 
ure of riding back in the morning." 

" Bless me ! how you talk — well, I never thought 
to hear so badly of the captain. He did seem so 
good a gentleman, and was so sweetly spoken." 

" Don't mistake me, dame, — I have said nothing un- 
favourable to the character of the gentleman — nothing 
bad of him. I know little about him, and this is one 
chief objection which I entertain to a greater intimacy. 


Another objection is that wild and indecorous levity, of 
which he never seems to divest himself, and which I 
think has given you to-night a fatiguing and unneces- 
sary ramble." 

" Well, if you think so, I don't care to go farther, 
for I don't expect to be at all comfortable in the Block 
House. So, if you can make me up a truck here — " 

" Surely, dame, — Bess, my dear " 

But the proposed arrangement was interrupted by 
Walter Grayson, who just then appeared, and who 
stoutly protested against his mother's stopping sbort of 
the original place of destination. The elder Grayson 
was a great advocate for Captain Harrison, who im- 
bodied all his ideal of what was worthy and magnifi- 
cent, in whom his faith was implicit — and he did 
not scruple to dilate with praiseworthy eloquence upon 
the scandal of such a proceeding as that proposed. 

" You must not think of it, mother. How will it 
look ? Besides, I'm sure the captain knows what's 
right, and wouldn't say what was not certain. It's 
only a mile and a bit — and when you can make sure, 
you must not stop short." 

" But, Watty, boy — the parson says it's only the 
captain's fun, and we'll only have to take a longer ride 
in the morning if we go on farther to-night." 

The son looked scowlingly upon the pastor, as he 
responded : — 

" Well, perhaps the parson knows better than any 
body else ; but give me the opinion of those whose bu- 
siness it is to know. Now, I believe in the captain 
whenever fighting's going on, and I believe in the par- 
son whenever preaching's going on— so as it's fighting 
and not. preaching now, I don't care who knows it, but 
I believe in the captain, and I won't believe in the 
parson. If it was preaching and not fighting, the parson 
should be my man." 

" Now, Watty, don't be disrespectful. I'm sure the 
parson must be right, and so I think we had all better 
stay here when there's no use in going." 

"Well now, mother, I'm sure the parson's wrong, 


and if you stay, it will only be to be tomahawked and 

"Why alarm your mother with such language, young 
man ? You are deceived — the Yemassees were never 
more peaceable than they are at present" — Matthews 
here broke in, but commanded little consideration from 
the son, and almost provoked a harsh retort : — 

" I say, Parson Matthews — one man knows one thing, 
and another man another — but, curse me, if I believe 
in the man that pretends to know every thing. Now 
fighting's the business, the very trade as I may^ay of 
Captain Harrison, of the Foresters, and I can tell you, 
if it will do you any good to hear, that he knows better 
how to handle these red-skins than any man in Gran- 
ville county, let the other man come from whatever 
quarter he may. Now preaching's your trade, though 
you can't do much at it, I think ; yet, as it is your trade, 
nobody has a right to meddle — it's your business, not 
mine. But, I say, parson — I don't think it looks alto- 
gether respectful to try and undo, behind his back, the 
trade of another ; and I think it little better than back- 
biting for any one to speak disreputably of the captain, 
just when he's gone into the very heart of the nation, 
to see what we are to expect, and all for our benefit." 

Grayson was mightily indignant, and spoke his mind 
freely. The parson frowned and winced at the rather 
novel and nowise sparing commentary, but could say 
nothing precisely to the point beyond what he had said 
already. Preaching, and not fighting, was certainly 
his profession ; and, to say the least of it, the previous 
labours of Harrison among the Indians, his success, 
and knowledge of their habits and character, justified 
the degree of confidence in his judgment, upon which 
Grayson so loudly insisted, and which old Matthews 
so sturdily withheld. A new speaker now came for- 
ward, however, in the person of Bess Matthews, who, 
without the slightest shrinking, advancing from the side 
of her mother, thus addressed the last speaker : — 

" Where, Master Grayson, did you say Captain Har- 
rison had sone ?" 


" Ah, Miss Betsey, I'm glad to see you. But you 
may well ask, for it's wonderful to me how any body 
can undervalue a noble gentleman just at the very time 
he's doing the best, and risking his own life for us all. 
Who knows but just at this moment the Yemassees 
are scalping him in Pocota-ligo, for its there he is gone 
to see what we may expect." 

" You do not speak certainly, Master Grayson — it is 
only your conjecture ?" was her inquiry, while the lip 
of the maiden trembled, and the colour fled hurriedly 
from her cheek. 

" Ay, but I do, Miss Betsey, for I put him across the 
river myself, and it was then he lent me the horse for 
mother. Yes, there he is, and nobody knows in what 
difficulty — for my part, I'm vexed to the soul to hear 
people running down the man that's doing for them 
what they can't do for themselves, and all only for the 
good-will of the thing, and not for any pay." 

" Nobody runs down your friend, Mr. Grayson." 

" Just the same thing — but you may talk as you think 
proper ; and if you don't choose to go, you may stay. 
I don't want to have any of mine scalped, and so, 
mother, let us be off." 

The old woman half hesitated, and seemed rather 
inclined once more to change her decision and go with 
her son, but happening to detect a smile upon the lips 
of the pastor, she grew more obstinate than ever, and 
peremptorily declared her determination to stay where 
she was. Grayson seemed perfectly bewildered, and 
knew not what to say. What he did say seemed 
only to have the effect of making her more dogged in 
her opposition than ever, and he was beginning to de- 
spair of success, when an influential auxiliary appeared 
in the person of his younger brother. To him the elder 
instantly appealed, and a close observer might have 
detected another change in the countenance of the old 
dame at the approach of her younger son. The fea- 
tures grew more feminine, and there was an expression 
of conscious dependance in the lines of her cheek and 
the half parted lips, which necessarily grew out of the 


greater love which she bore to the one over the other 

"And what do you say, Hughey, my son?" inquired 
the old dame, affectionately. 

"What have I said, mother ?" was the brief response. 

" And we must go to the Block House, Hughey V 

" Did we not set out to go there V 

" But the parson thinks there is no danger, Hughey." 

" That is, doubtless, what he thinks. There are 
others having quite as much experience, who think 
there is danger, and as you have come so far, it will 
not be much additional trouble to go farther and to a 
place of safety. Remember my father — he thought 
there was no danger, and he was scalped for it." 

The young man spoke gravely and without hesitation, 
but with a manner the most respectful. His words 
were conclusive with his mother, whose jewel he un- 
questionably was, and his last reference was unneces- 
sary. Drawing the strings of her hat, with a half 
suppressed sigh, she prepared to leave a circle some- 
what larger and consequently somewhat more cheerful 
than that to which she had been accustomed. In the 
meantime, a little by-play had been going on between 
the elder brother and Bess Matthews, whose appre- 
hensions, but poorly concealed, had been brought into 
acute activity on hearing of the precarious adventure 
which her lover had undertaken. This dialogue, 
however, was soon broken by the departure of Dame 
Grayson, attended by her elder son, the younger re- 
maining behind, much against the desire of the anxious 
mother, though promising soon to follow. Their de- 
parture was succeeded by a few moments of profound 
and somewhat painful silence, for which each of the 
parties had a particular reason. The pastor, though 
obstinately bent not to take the counsel given by Har- 
rison, was yet not entirely satisfied with his deter- 
mination ; and the probability is, that a single cir- 
cumstance occurring at that time, so as to furnish a 
corresponding authority from another, might have 
brought about a change in his decision. His lady was 


a taciturn body, who said little then, but looked much 
discontent ; and Bess, who was too much absorbed 
with the voluntary exposure of her lover to the ferocity 
of those whom he esteemed enemies, kept her thoughts 
entirely from the subject of their late discussion. 
Young Grayson, too, had his peculiar cause of disquiet, 
and, with a warm passion, active yet denied, in his 
heart — and a fierce mood for ambition, kept within 
those limits which prescription and social artifice so 
frequently wind, as with the coil of the constrictor, 
around the lofty mind and the upsoaring spirit, keeping 
it down to earth, and chaining it in a bondage as de- 
grading as it is unnatural — he felt in no humour to break 
through the restraints which fettered the goodly com- 
pany about him. Still, the effort seemed properly 
demanded of him, and referring to the common move- 
ment, he commenced the conversation by regretting, 
with a commonplace phraseology, the prospect held 
forth, so injurious to the settlement oy any ap- 
proaching tumult among the Indians. The old pastor 
fortified his decision not to remove, by repeating his 
old confidence in their quiet : — 

" The Indians," said he, " have been and are quiet 
enough. We have no reason to anticipate assault now. 
It is true, they have the feelings of men, and as they 
have been injured by some of our traders, and perhaps 
by some of our borderers, they may have cause of 
complaint, and a few of them may even be desirous 
of revenge. This is but natural. But, if this were 
the general feeling, we should have seen its proofs 
before now. They would seek it in individual enter- 
prises, and would strike and slay those who wronged 
them. Generally speaking, they have nothing to com- 
plain of; for, since that excellent man, Charles Craven, 
has been governor, he has been their friend, even in 
spite of the assembly, who, to say truth, have been no- 
wise sparing of injustice wherever the savage has been 
concerned. Again, I say, I see not why we should 
apprehend danger from the Yemassees at this moment." 

As if himself satisfied with the force of what he had 


said, the pastor threw himself back in his chair, and 
closed his eyes and crossed his hands in that stashed 
and canting manner, quite too common among a class 
of professional worshippers, and in which self-com- 
plaisance makes up quite as much of the feature as 
sincerity of devotion. Grayson replied briefly : — 

" Yet there are some evidences which should not 
be disregarded. Sanutee, notoriously friendly as he 
has been to us, no longer visits us — he keeps carefully 
away, and when seen, his manner is restrained, and 
his language any thing but cordial. Ishiagaska, too, 
has been to St. Augustine, brought home large presents 
for himself and other of the chiefs, and has paid a visit 
to the Creeks, the Apalatchies, and other tribes — 
besides bringing home with him Chigilli, the celebrated 
Creek war-chief, who has been among the Yemassees 
ever since. Now, to say the least of it, there is much 
that calls for attention in the simple intercourse of 
foes so inveterate hitherto as the Spaniards and Ye- 
massees. Greater foes have not often been known, 
and this new friendship is therefore the more remark- 
able ; conclusive, indeed, when we consider the cold- 
ness of the Yemassees toward us just as they have 
contracted this new acquaintance ; the fury with which 
they revolutionized the nation, upon the late treaty for 
their lands, and the great difficulty which Sanutee had 
in restraining them from putting our commissioners to 

" Ah, that was a bad business, but the fault was on 
our side. Our assembly would inveigle with the 
young chiefs, and bribe them against the will of the 
old, though Governor Craven told them what they 
might expect, and warned them against the measure. 
I have seen his fine letter to the assembly on that very 
point." , 

" We differ, Mr. Matthews, about the propriety of 
the measure, for it is utterly impossible that the whites 
and Indians should ever live together and agree. The 
nature of things is against it, and the very difference 
between the two, that of colour, perceptible to our 


most ready sentinel, the sight, must always constitute 
them an inferior caste in our minds. Apart from this, 
an obvious superiority in arts and education must soon 
force upon them the consciousness of their inferiority. 
When this relationship is considered, in connexion 
with the uncertainty of their resources and means of 
life, it will be seen that, after a while, they must not 
only be inferior, but they must become dependant. 
When this happens, and it will happen with the dimi- 
nution of their hunting lands, circumscribed, daily, 
more and more, as they are by our approaches, they 
must become degraded and sink into slavery and des- 
titution. A few of them have become so now, and 
one chief cause of complaint among the Yemassees, 
is the employment by our people of several of their 
warriors to carry messages and hunt our runaway 
slaves — both of them employments, which their own 
sense readily informs them, are necessarily degrading 
to their character, and calculated to make them a na- 
tion of mercenaries. To my mind, the best thing we 
can do for them is to send them as far as possible from 
contact with our people." 

"What! and deny them all the benefits of our 
blessed religion ?" 

" By no means, sir. The old apostles would have 
gone along with, or after them. Unless the vocation 
of the preacher be very much changed in times pres- 
ent from times past, they will not, therefore, be denied 
any of the benefits of religious education." 

The answer somewhat silenced the direction of our 
pastor's discourse, who, though a very well meaning, 
was yet a very sleek and highly providential person ; 
and, while his wits furnished no ready answer to this 
suggestion, he was yet not prepared himself for an 
utter remove from all contact with civilization, and the 
good things known to the economy of a Christian 
kitchen. As he said nothing in reply, Grayson pro- 
ceeded thus : — 

" There is yet another circumstance upon which 
I have made no remark, yet which seems important 


at this moment of doubt, and possibly of danger. This 
guarda costa, lying in the river for so many days, 
without any intercourse with our people, and seem- 
ingly with no object, is at least singular. She is evi- 
dently Spanish ; and the report is, that on her way, she 
was seen to put into every inlet along the coast — every 
bay and creek along the rivers — and here we find her, 
not coming to the shore, but moored in the stream, 
ready to cut cable and run at a moment. What can be 
her object?" 

"You have been at some pains, Master Hugh 
Grayson, I see, to get evidence ; but so far as this vessel 
or guarda costa is concerned, I think I may venture 
to say she is harmless. As to her putting into this 
creek or that, I can say nothing — she may have done 
so, and it is very probable, for she comes especially 
to get furs and skins from the Indians. I know her 
captain — at least I knew him when a boy — a wild 
youth from my own county — who took to the sea for the 
mere love of roving. He was wild, and perhaps a 
little vicious, when young, and may be so now ; but I 
have his own word that his object is trade with the 
Indians for furs and skins, as I have told you." 

"And why not with the whites for furs and skins? 
No, sir ! He needs no furs, and of this I have evi- 
dence enough. I had a fine parcel, which I preferred 
rather to sell on the spot than send to Charlestown, 
but he refused to buy from me on the most idle pre- 
tence. This, more than any thing else, makes me 
doubt ; and, in his refusal, I feel assured there is more 
than we know of. Like yourself, I have been slow to 
give ear to these apprehensions, yet they have forced 
themselves upon me, and precaution is surely better, 
even though at some trouble, when safety is the object. 
My brother, from whom I have several facts of this 
kind within the last hour, is himself acquainted with 
much in the conduct of the Indians, calculated to 
create suspicion, and from Captain Harrison he gets 
the rest." 

" Ay, Harrison again — no evidence is good without 


him. He is everywhere, and with him a good jest is 
authority enough at any time." 

" I love him not, sir, any more than yourself," said 
Grayson, gloomily ; " but there is reason in what he 
tells us now." 

" Father !" said Bess, coming forward, and putting 
her hand tenderly on the old man's shoulder — " hear 
to Master Grayson — he speaks for the best. Let us 
go to the Block, only for the night, or at most two or 
three nights — for Gabriel said the danger would be 
soon over." 

" Go to, girl, and be not foolish. Remember, too, to 
speak of gentlemen by their names in full, with a 
master before them, or such as the law or usage gives 
them. Go !" 

The manner in which Harrison had been referred to 
by the daughter, offended Grayson not less than it did 
her father, and, though now well satisfied of the posi- 
tion in which the parties stood, he could not prevent 
the muscles of his brow contracting sternly, and his 
eyes bending down sullenly upon her. The old lady 
now put in : — 

" Really, John, you are too obstinate. Here are all 
against you, and there is so little trouble, and there 
may be so much risk. You may repent when it is too 

" You will have something then to scold about, 
dame, and therefore should not complain. But all 
this is exceedingly childish, and you will do me the 
favour, Master Grayson, to discourse of other things, 
since, as I see not any necessity to fly from those 
who have been friends always, I shall, for this good 
night at least, remain just where I am. For you, 
wife, and you, Bess, if you will leave me, you are both 
at liberty to go." 

" Leave you, father," exclaimed Bess, sinking on 
one knee by the old man's side — " speak not unkindly. 
I will stay, and if there be danger, will freely share it 
with you, in whatever form it may chance to come." 

" You are a good girl, Bess — a little timid, perhaps, 


but time will cure you of that," and patting her on the 
head, the old man rose, and took his way from the 
house into his cottage enclosure. Some household 
duties at the same moment demanding the considera- 
tion of the old lady in another room, she left the 
young people alone together. 


" A cruel tale for an unwilling ear, 
And maddening to the spirit. But go on — 
Speak daggers to my soul, which, though it feels, 
Thou canst not warp to wrong by injuries." 

This departure of the pastor and his lady was pro- 
ductive of some little awkwardness in those who re- 
mained. For a few moments, a deathlike stillness 
succeeded. Well aware that her affections for Har- 
rison were known to her present companion, a feel- 
ing not altogether unpleasant, of maiden bashfulness, 
led the eyes of Bess to the floor, and silenced her 
speech. A harsher mood for a time produced a like 
situation on the part of Grayson, but it lasted not long. 
With a sullen sort of resolution, gathering into some 
of that energetic passion as he proceeded which so 
much marked his character, he broke the silence at 
length with a word — a single word — uttered desper- 
ately, as it were, and with a half choking enuncia- 
tion : — 

" Miss Matthews—" 

She looked up at the sound, and as she beheld the 
dark expression of his eye, the concentrated glance, 
the compressed lip — as if he dared not trust himself to 
utter that which he felt at the same time must be 
uttered — she half started, and the " Sir" with which 
she acknowledged his address was articulated tim- 



" Be not alarmed, Miss Matthews ; be not alarmed. 
I see what I would not see. — I see that I am an object 
rather of fear, rather of dislike — detestation it may 
be — than of any other of those various feelings I would 
freely give my life to inspire in your heart." 

" You wrong me, Master Grayson, indeed you do. 
1 have no such feeling like those you speak of. I do 
not dislike or detest you, and I should be very sorry to 
have you think so. Do not think so, I pray you." 

" But you fear me — you fear me, Miss Matthews, 
and the feeling is much the same. Yet why should 
you fear me — what have I done, what said ?" 

" You startle me, Master Grayson — not that I fear 
you, for I have no cause to fear when I have no 
desire to harm. But, truth, sir — when you look so 
wildly and speak so strangely, I feel unhappy and 
apprehensive, and yet I do not fear you." 

He looked upon her as she spoke with something 
of a smile — a derisive smile. 

" Yet, if you knew all, Miss Matthews — if you had 
seen and heard all — ay, even the occurrences of the 
last two hours, you would both fear and hate me." 

" I do not fear to hear, Master Grayson, and there- 
fore I beg that you will speak out. You cannot, 
surely, design to terrify me ? Let me but think so, sir, 
but for a moment, and you will as certainly fail." 

"You are strong, but not strong enough to hear, 
without terror, the story I could tell you. I said you 
feared, and perhaps hated me — more — perhaps you 
despise me. I despise myself, sincerely, deeply, for 
some of my doings, of which you — my mad passion for 
you, rather — has been the cause." 

" Speak no more of this, Master Grayson — freely 
did I forgive you that error — I would also forget it, 

" That forgiveness was of no avail — my heart has 
grown more black, more malignant than ever ; and, no 
need for wonder ! Let your thoughts go back and ex- 
amine, along with mine, its history ; for, though in this 
search, I feel the accursed probe irritating anew at 


every touch the yet bleeding wound, I am not un- 
willing that my own hand should direct it. Hear me. 
We were children together, Bess Matthews. — In our 
infancy, in another land, we played happily together. 
When we came to this, unconscious almost of our 
remove, for at first we were not separated, — when the 
land was new, and our fathers felled the old trees and 
made a cabin common, for three happy years, to them 
both, we played together under the same shelter. Day 
by day found us inseparate, and, at that time, mutual 
dependants. Each day gave us new consciousness, 
and every new consciousness taught us a most unselfish 
division of our gains. I feel that such was your spirit, 
Bess Matthews — do me the justice to say, you believe 
such was my spirit also." 

" It was — I believe it, Hugh — Master Grayson, I 

" Oh, be not so frigid — say Hugh — Hugh as of old 
you used to say it," exclaimed the youth, passionately, 
as she made the correction. 

" Such was your spirit then, Hugh, I willingly say it. 
You were a most unselfish playmate. I have always 
done you justice in my thought. I am glad still to 
do so." 

" Then our school-mate life — that came — three 
months to me in the year, with old Squire Downie, 
while you had all the year. — I envied you that, Bess, 
though I joyed still in your advantages. What was my 
solace the rest of the year, when, without a feeling for 
my labour, I ran the furrows, and following my father's 
footsteps, dropped the grain into them ? — what was my 
solace then 1 Let me answer, as perhaps you know 
not. The thought of the night, when, unwearied by 
all exertion, I should fly over to your cottage, and 
chat with you the few hours between nightfall and 
bedtime. I loved you then. — That was love, though 
neither of us knew it. It was not the search after the 
playmate, but after the playmate's heart, that carried 
me there ; for my brother, with whom you played not 
less than with myself, — he sunk wearied to his bed, 


though older and stronger than myself. I was un- 
fatigued, for I loved ; and thus it is that the body, 
taking its temper from the affections, is strong or weak, 
bold or timid, as they warm into emotion, or freeze 
with indifference. But day after day, and night after 
night, I came ; unrelaxing, unchanging, to watch your 
glance, to see the play of your lips — to be the adoring 
boy, afraid sometimes even to breathe, certainly to 
speak, through fear of breaking the spell, or possibly 
of offending the divinity to whom I owed so much, 
and sent up feelings in prayer so devoutly." 

" Speak not thus extravagantly, Master Grayson, or 
I must leave you." 

"Hugh — call me Hugh, will you not? It bears me 
back — back to the boyhood I would I had never risen 

" Hugh, then, I will call you, and with a true pleasure. 
Ay, more, Hugh, I will be to you again the sister you 
found me then ; but you must not run on so idly." 

"Idly, indeed, Bess Matthews, when for a dearer 
and a sweeter name I must accept that of sister. But 
let me speak ere I madden. Time came with all his 
changes. The neighbourhood thickened, we were no 
longer few in number, and consequently no longer de- 
pendant upon each other. The worst change followed 
then, Bess Matthews — the change in you." 

" How, Hugh — you saw no change in me. 1 have 
surely been the same always." 

" No, no — many changes I saw in you. Every hour 
had its change, and most of them were improving 
changes. With every change you grew more beautiful ; 
and the auburn of your hair in changing to a deep and 
glossy brown, and the soft pale of your girlish cheek 
in putting on a leaf of the most delicate rose, and the 
bright glance of your eye in assuming a soft and qual- 
ifying moisture in its expression, — were all so many 
exquisite changes of lovely to lovelier, and none of 
them unnoticed by me. My eyes were sentinels that 
slept not when watching yours. I saw every change, 
however unimportant — however unseen by others ! Not 


a glance — not a feature — not a tone — not an expres- 
sion did I leave unstudied ; and every portraiture, in- 
delibly fixed upon my memory, underwent comparison 
in my lingering reflection before slumbering at night. 
Need I tell you, that watching your person thus, your 
mind underwent a not less scrupulous examination? 
I weighed every sentence of your lips — every thought 
of your sense — every feeling of your heart. I could 
detect the unuttered emotion in your eyes ; and the 
quiver of your lip, light as that of the rose when the 
earliest droppings of the night dew steal into its 
bosom, was perceptible to that keen glance of love 
which I kept for ever upon you. How gradual then 
was the change which I noted day by day. He came 
at length, and with a prescience which forms no small 
portion of the spirit of a true affection, I cursed him 
when I saw him. You saw him too, and then the change 
grew rapid — dreadfully rapid, to my eyes. He won 
you, as you had won me. There was an instinct in it. 
You no longer cared whether I came to you or not — " 

" Nay, Hugh — there you are wrong again — I was 
always glad — always most happy to see you." 

" You think so, Bess ; — I am willing to believe you 
think so — but it is you who are wrong. I know that 
you cared not whether I came or not, for on the sub- 
ject your thought never rested for a moment, or but for 
a moment. I soon discovered that you were also im- 
portant in his sight, and I hated him the more from the 
discovery — I hated him the more for loving you. Till 
this day, however, I had not imagined the extent to 
which you had both gone — I had not feared, I had not 
felt all my desolation. I had only dreamed of and 
dreaded it. But when, in a paroxysm of madness, I 
looked upon you and saw — saw your mutual lips — " 

" No more, Master Grayson," — she interposed with 

" I will not — forgive me ; — but you know how it mad- 
dened me, and how I erred, and how you rebuked me. 
How dreadful was that rebuke ! — but it did not re- 
strain the error — it impelled me to a new one — " 


" What new one, Hugh ?" 

" Hear me ! This man Harrison — that I should 
speak his name ! — that I should speak it praisefully 
too ! — he came to our cottage — showed our danger 
from the Yemassees to my mother, and would have 
persuaded her to fly this morning — but I interfered 
and prevented the removal. He saw my brother, 
however, and as Walter is almost his worshipper, he 
was more successful with him. Leaving you in a 
mood little short of madness this afternoon, I hurried 
home, but there 1 could not rest, and vexed with a 
thousand dreadful thoughts, I wandered from the house 
away into the woods. After a while came the tread 
of a horse rapidly driving up the river-trace, and near 
the spot where I wandered. The rider was Harrison. 
He alighted at a little distance from me, tied his horse 
to a shrub, and threw himself just before me upon the 
grass. A small tree stood between us, and my 
approach was unnoticed. I heard him murmuring, and 
with the same base spirit which prompted me to look 
down on your meeting to-day, I listened to his lan- 
guage. His words were words of tenderness and 
love — of triumphant love, and associated with your 
name — he spoke of you — God curse him ! as his own." 

The word " Gabriel" fell unconsciously from the lips 
of the maiden as she heard this part of the jiarrative. 
For a moment Grayson paused, and his brow grew 
black, while his teeth were compressed closely ; but 
as she looked up, as if impatient for the rest of his 
narrative, he went on : — 

" Then I maddened. Then I grew fiendish. 1 
know not whence the impulse, but it must have been 
from hell. I sprang upon him, and with the energies 
of a tiger and with more than his ferocity, I pinioned 
him to the ground, my knee upon his breast — one hand 
upon his throat, and with my knife in the other — " 

"Stay! — God — man — say that you slew him not! 
You struck not — oh ! you kept back your hand — he 
lives !" Convulsed with terror, she clasped the arm of 


the speaker, while her- face grew haggard with affright, 
and her eyes seemed starting from their sockets. 

" I slew him not !" he replied solemnly. 

" God bless you — God bless you !" was all that she 
could utter, as she sunk back fainting upon the floor 
of the apartment. 


" Thou hast not slain her with thy cruel word, — 
She lives, she wakes — her eyes unclose again, 
And I breathe freely." 

Passionate and thoughtless, Hugh Grayson had not 
calculated the consequences of his imprudent and ex- 
citing narrative upon a mind so sensitive. He was 
now aware of his error, and his alarm at her situation 
was extreme. He lifted her from the floor, and sup- 
ported her to a seat, endeavouring, as well as he could, 
with due care and anxiety, to restore her to conscious- 
ness. While thus employed the pastor re-entered the 
apartment, and his surprise may be imagined. 

" Ha ! what is this — what have you done, Master 
Grayson? Speak, sir — my child? Bess — Bess, dear — 
look up. See — 'tis thy old father that holds and 
looks on thee. Look up, my child — look up and speak 
to me." 

Without answering, Grayson resigned her to the 
hands of the pastor, and with folded arms and a face 
full of gloomy expression, stood gazing upon the scene 
in silence. The father supported her tenderly, and 
with a show of fervency not common to a habit which, 
from constant exercise, and the pruderies of a form 
of worship rather too much given to externals, had, in 
progress of time, usurped dominion over a temper 
originally rather passionate than phlegmatic. Ex- 
claiming all the while to the unconscious girl — and 


now and then addressing Grayson in a series of broken 
sentences, the old man proved the possession of a 
degree of regard for his child which might have ap- 
peared doubtful before. Grayson, meanwhile, stood 
by, — an awed and silent spectator, — bitterly reproach- 
ing himself for his imprudence in making such a 
communication, and striving, in his own mind, to forge 
or force an apology, at least to himself, for the heed- 
lessness which had marked his conduct. 

" What, Master Grayson, has been the cause of 
this ? Speak out, sir — my daughter is my heart, and 
you have trifled with her. Beware, sir. — I am an old 
man, and a professor of a faith whose essence is 
peace ; but I am still a man, sir — with the feelings 
and the passions of a man ; and sooner than my child 
should suffer wrong, slight as a word, I will even throw 
aside that faith and become a man of blood. Speak, 
sir, what has made all this?" 

The youth grew firmer under such an exhortation, 
for his was the nature to be won rather than com- 
manded. He looked firmly into the face of the 
speaker, and his brow gathered to a frown. The old 
man saw it, and saw in the confidence his glance ex- 
pressed, that however he might have erred, he had at 
least intended no disrespect. As this conviction 
came to his mind, he immediately addressed his com- 
panion in a different character, while returning con- 
sciousness in his daughter's eyes warned him also to 

" I have been harsh, Master Grayson — harsh, indeed, 
my son ; but my daughter is dear to me as the fresh 
blood around my heart, and suffering with her is sore- 
ness and more than suffering to me. Forbear to say, 
at this time — I see that she has misunderstood you, or 
her sickness may have some other cause. Look — 
bring me some water, my son." 

" My son !" muttered Grayson to himself as he pro- 
ceeded to the sideboard where stood the pitcher. 
Pouring some of its contents into a glass, he ap- 
proached the maiden, whose increasing sighs indi- 


cated increasing consciousness. The old man was 
about to take the glass from his hands when her un- 
closing eye rested upon him. With a shriek she started 
to her feet, and lifting her hand as if to prevent his ap- 
proach, and averting her eye as if to shut his pres- 
ence from her sight, she exclaimed — 

" Away ! thou cruel murderer — come not nigh me — 
look not on me — touch me not with thy hands of blood. 
Touch me not — away." 

" God of Heaven!" exclaimed Grayson, in like 
horror, — " what, indeed have I done ? Forgive me, 
Miss Matthews, forgive me — I am no murderer. He 
lives — I struck him not. Forgive me !" 

" I have no forgiveness — none. Thou hast lifted 
thy hand against God's image — thou hast sought to 
slay a noble gentleman to whom thou art as nothing. 
Away — let me not look upon thee !" 

"Be calm, Bess — my daughter. Thou dost mis- 
take. This is no murderer — this is our young friend, 
thy old playmate, Hugh Grayson." 

" Ay ! he came with that old story, of how we 
played together, and spoke of his love and all — and 
then showed me a knife, and lifted his bloody hands 
to my face, and — Oh ! it was too horrible." And she 
shivered at the association of terrible objects which 
her imagination continued to conjure up. 

" Thou hast wrought upon her over much, Master 
Grayson, and though I think with no ill intent, yet it 
would seem with but small judgment." 

" True, sir— and give me, I pray you, but a few 
moments with your daughter — a few moments alone, 
that I may seek to undo this cruel thought which she 
now appears to hold me in. But a few moments — 
believe me — I shall say nothing unkind or offensive. " 

" Leave me not, father— go not out — rather let him 
go where I may not see him, for he has been a base 
spy, and would have been a foul murderer, but that the 
good spirit held back his hand." 

" Thou sayest rightly, Bess Matthews — I have been 
base and foul — but thou sayest ungently and against 


thy better nature, for I have scorned myself that I was 
so. Give me leave — let thy father go — turn thy head 
— close thine eyes. I ask thee not to look upon me, 
but hear me and the quest, which 1 claim rather from 
thy goodness than from any meritings of mine own." 

There was a gloomy despondence in his looks, and 
a tone of perfect abandon in his voice, that went to 
the heart of the maiden, as, while he spoke, she 
turned, and her eyes were bent upon him. Looking 
steadfastly upon his face for a few moments after he 
had ceased speaking, she appeared slowly to deliber- 
ate ; then, as if- satisfied, she turned to her father, and 
with a motion of her hand signified her consent. 
The old man retired, and Grayson would have led her 
to a seat ; but rejecting his proffered aid with much 
firmness, she drew a chair, and motioning him also to 
one at a little distance, she prepared to hear him. 

" 1 needed not this, Miss Matthews, to feel how 
deeply I had erred — how dreadfully I have been pun- 
ished. When you know that I have had but one stake 
in life — that I have lived but for one object — and have 
lived in vain and am now denied, — you will not need 
to be told how completely unnecessary to my torture 
and trial is the suspicion of your heart, and the cold- 
ness of your look and manner. I came to-night and 
sought this interview, hopeless of any thing beside, 
at least believing myself not altogether unworthy of 
your esteem. To prove this more certainly to your 
mind, I laid bare my own. I suppressed nothing — 
you saw my uncovered soul, and without concealment 
I resolutely pointed out to you all its blots — all its de- 
formities. I spoke of my love for you, of its extent, 
not that I might claim any from you in return — for I 
saw that such hope was idle ; and, indeed, knowing 
what I do, and how completely your beart is in the 
possession of another, were it offered to me at this 
moment, could I accept of it on any terms ? Base as 
I have been for a moment — criminal, as at another 
moment I would have been, I value still too deeply 
my own affections to yield them to one who cannot 


make a like return, and with as few reservations. But 
I told you of my love that you should find something 
in its violence — say its madness — to extenuate, if not 
to excuse, the errors to which it has prompted me. I 
studiously declared those errors, the better to prove to 
you that I was no hypocrite, and the more certainly 
therefore to inspire your confidence in one who, if he 
did not avoid, was at least as little willing to defend 
them. I came to you for your pardon ; and, unable to 
win your love, I sought only for your esteem. I have 

" Master Hugh Grayson — I have heard you, and am 
willing to believe in much that you have said ; but I am 
not prepared to believe that in much that you have said 
you have not been practising upon yourself. You have 
said you love me, and I believe it — sorry I am that 
you should loVe unprofitably anywhere — more sorry 
still that I should be the unwitting occasion of a mis- 
spent and profitless passion. But, look closely into 
yourself — into your own thoughts, and then ask how 
you have loved me ? Let me answer — not as a woman 
— not as a thinking and a feeling creature — but as a 
plaything, whom your inconsiderate passion might 
practise upon at will, and move to tears or smiles, as 
may best accord with a caprice that has never from 
childhood been conscious of any subjection. Even 
now, you come to me for my confidence — my esteem. 
Yet you studiously practise upon my affections and 
emotions — upon my woman weaknesses. You saw 
that I loved another — I shame not to say it, for I believe 
and feel it — and you watched me like a sp)\ You had 
there no regulating principle keeping down impulse, 
but with the caprice of a bad passion, consenting to a 
aieanness, which is subject to punishment in our very 
slaves. Should I trust the man who, under any cir- 
cumstances save those of another's good and safety, 
could deserve the epithet of eaves-dropper ?" 

" Forbear — forbear — in mercy !" 

" No, Master Grayson — let me not forbear. Were 
it principle and not pride that called upon me to for- 


bear, I should obey it ; but I have known you from 
childhood, Hugh, and I speak to you now with all the 
freedom — and, believe me — with all the affection of 
that period. I know your failing, and I speak to it. 
I would not wound your heart, I only aim at the amend- 
ment of your understanding. I would give it a true 
direction. I believe your heart to be in the right 
place — it only wants that your mind should never 
swerve from its place. Forgive me, therefore, if, 
speaking what I hold to be just, I should say that 
which should seem to be harsh also." 

" Go on — go on, Miss Matthews — I can bear it all 
— any thing from you." 

"And but small return, Master Grayson, for I have 
borne much from you. Not content with the one 
error, which freely I forgave — so far as forgiveness 
may be yielded without amendment or repentance — 
you proceeded to another — to a crime, a dark, a dread- 
ful crime. You sought the life of a fellow-creature, 
without provocation, and worse still, Master Grayson, 
without permitting your enemy the common footing 
of equality. In that one act were malignity, mur- 
der, and — " 

" No more — no more — speak it not — " 

" Cowardice !" 

" Thou art bent to crush me quite, Bess Matthews — 
thou wouldst have me in the dust — thy foot on my 
head, and the world seeing it. This is thy triumph." 

"A sad one, Hugh Grayson — a sad one — for thou 
hast thy good — thy noble qualities, wert thou not a 

"Slave, too — malignant, murderer, coward, slave." 

"Ay, to thy baser thoughts, and from these would I 
free thee. With thee — I believe — it is but to know 
the tyranny to overthrow it. Thy pride of independ- 
ence would there be active, and in that particular 
most nobly exercised. But let me proceed." 

" Is there more ?" 

" Yes, — and thou wilt better prove thy regard for 
my esteem, when thou wilt stand patiently to hear me 

Vol. II. 


out. Thou didst not kill, but all the feeling of death — 
the death of the mind — was undergone by thy destined 
victim. He felt himself under thee, he saw no hope, 
he looked up in the glance of thy descending knife, 
and knew not that the good mood would so soon re- 
turn to save him from death, and thee from perdition. 
In his thought thou didst slay him, though thou struck 
no blow to his heart." ., 

" True, true — I thought not of that." 

" Yet thou earnest to me, Hugh Grayson, claiming 
merit for thy forbearance. Thou wert confident, be- 
cause thou didst not all the crime thy first criminal 
spirit proposed to thee. Shall I suggest that the good 
angel which interposed was thy weakness — art thou 
sure that the dread of punishment, and not the feeling 
of good, stayed thee not V 

" No! as I live, — as I stand before thee, Bess Mat- 
thews, thou dost me wrong. God help me, no! I 
was bad enough, and base enough, without that — it 
was not the low fear of the hangman — not the rope — ■ 
not the death. I am sure it was any thing but that." 

" I believe you ; but what was it brought you to me 
with all this story — the particulars at full, — the dread- 
ful incidents one upon the other, until thou saw'st my 
agony under the uplifted knife aiming at the bosom of 
one as far above thee, Hugh Grayson, in all that 
makes the noble gentleman, as it is possible for prin- 
ciple to be above passion, and the love of God and 
good works superior to the fear of punishment?— 
Where was thy manliness in this recital 1 Thou hast 
no answer here." 

" Thou speakest proudly for him, Bess Matthews — 
it is well he stands so high in thy sight." 

" I forgive thee that sneer, too, Master Grayson, 
along with thy malignity, thy murder, and thy — man- 
liness. Be thou forgiven of all — but let us say no 
more together. My regards are not with me to be- 
stow — they belong to thy doings, and thou mayst 
command, not solicit, whenever thou dost deserve them. 
Let us speak no more together." 


" Cruel — most heartless — am I so low in thy sight ? 
See, I am at thy feet — trample me in the dust — I will 
not shrink — I will not reproach thee." 

" Thou shouldst shame at this practice upon my 
feelings. Thou, Hugh Grayson — with thy mind, with 
thy pride — shouldst not aim to do by passionate en- 
treaty what thou mayst not do by sense and right rea- 
son. Rise, sir — thou canst not move me now. Thou 
hast undone thyself in my sight — thou needst not sink 
at my feet to have me look down upon thee." 

Had a knife gone into the heart of the young man, 
a more agonizing expression could not have over- 
shadowed his countenance. The firmness of the mai- 
den had taught him her strength not less than his own 
weakness. He felt his error, and with the mind for 
which she had given him credit, he rose, with a new 
determination, to his feet. 

" Thou art right, Miss Matthews — and in all that 
has passed, mine have been the error and the wrong. I 
will not ask for the regards which I should command ; 
but thou shalt hear well of me henceforward, and wilt 
do me more grateful justice when we meet again." 

" I take thy promise, Hugh, for I know thy inde- 
pendence of character, and such a promise will not be 
necessary now for thy good. Take my hand — I for- 
give thee. It is my weakness, perhaps, to do so — but 
I forgive thee." 

He seized her hand, which she had, with a girlish 
frankness, extended to him, carried it suddenly to his 
lips, and immediately left the dwelling. 



" The storm cloud gathers fast, the hour's at hand, 
When it will burst in fury o'er the land ; 
Yet is the quiet beautiful — the rush 
Of the sweet south is all disturbs the hush, 
While, like pure spirits, the pale night-stars brood 
O'er forests which the Indian bathes in blood." 

A brief and passing dialogue between Grayson and 
the pastor, at the entrance, partially explained to the 
latter the previous history. The disposition of Mat- 
thews in regard to the pretensions of Grayson to his 
daughter's hand— of which he had long been con- 
scious — was rather favourable than otherwise. In this 
particular, the suit of Grayson derived importance from 
the degree of ill-favour with which the old gentleman 
had been accustomed to consider that of Harrison. 
With strong prejudices, the pastor was quite satisfied 
to obey an impression, and to mistake, as with persons 
of strong prejudices is frequently the case, an impulse 
for an argument. Not that he could urge any thing 
against the suiter who was the favourite of his child — 
of that he felt satisfied — but, coming fairly under the 
description of the doggerel satirist, he did not dislike 
Harrison a jot less for having little reason to dislike 
him. And there is something in this. 

It was, therefore, with no little regret, he beheld the 
departure of Grayson under circumstances so unfa- 
vourable to his suit. From his own, and the lips of 
his daughter, alike, he had been taught to understand 
that she had objections ; but the emotion of Grayson, 
and the openly-expressed indignation of Bess, at once 
satisfied him of the occurrence of that which effectu- 
ally excluded the hope that time might effect some 
change for the better. He was content, therefore, 
simply to regret what his own good sense taught him 


he could not amend, and what his great regard for his 
child's peace persuaded him not to attempt. 

Grayson, in the meantime, hurried away under 
strong excitements. He had felt deeply the denial, 
but far more deeply the rebukes of the maiden. She 
had searched narrowly into his inner mind — had probed 
close its weaknesses — had laid bare to his own eyes 
those silent motives of his conduct, which he had not 
himself dared to analyze or encounter. His pride was 
hurt by her reproaches, and he was ashamed of the 
discoveries which she had made. Though mortified 
to the soul, however, there was a redeeming principle 
at work within him. He had been the slave of his 
mood : but he determined, from that moment, upon the 
overthrow of the tyranny. To this she had counselled 
him ; to this his own pride of character had also coun- 
selled him ; and, though agonized with the defeated 
hopes clamouring in his bosom, he adopted a noble 
decision, and determined to be at least worthy of the 
love which he yet plainly felt he could never win. 
His course now was to adopt energetic measures in 
preparing for any contest that might happen with the 
Indians. Of this danger he was not altogether con- 
scious. He did not imagine it so near at hand, and 
had only given in to precautionary measures with re- 
gard to his mother, in compliance with his brother's 
wish, and as no great inconvenience could result from 
their temporary removal. But the inflexible obstinacy 
of the pastor in refusing to take the shelter of the con- 
tiguous Block House, led him more closely to reflect 
upon the consequent exposure of Bess Matthews ; and, 
from thus reflecting, the danger became magnified to 
his eyes. He threw himself, therefore, upon the steed 
of Harrison, as soon as he reached the Block House ; 
and without troubling himself to explain to any one his 
intentions, for he was too proud for that, he set off at 
once, and at full speed, to arouse such of the neigh- 
bouring foresters as had not yet made their appear- 
ance at the place of gathering, or had been too re- 
motely situated for previous warning. 


The old pastor, on parting with the disappointed 
youth, re-entered the dwelling, and without being per- 
ceived by his daughter. She stood in the middle of 
the apartment, her finger upon her lips, and absorbed 
in meditation as quiet as if she had never before been 
disturbed for an instant ; like some one of those fine 
imbodiments of heavenward devotion we meet with 
now and then in a Holy Family by one of the old mas- 
ters. He approached her, and when his presence be- 
came evident, she knelt suddenly before him. 

" Bless me, father — dear father — -bless me, and let 
me retire." 

" God bless you, Bess — and watch over and protect 
you — but what disturbs you 1 You are troubled." 

" I know not, father — but I fear. I fear something 
terrible, yet know not what. My thoughts are all in 

" You need sleep, my child, and quiet. These ex- 
citements and foolish reports have worried you ; but a 
night's sleep will make all well again. Go, now — go 
to your mother, and may the good angels keep you." 

With the direction, she arose, threw her arms about 
his neck, and with a kiss, affectionately bidding him 
good night, she retired to her chamber, first passing 
a few brief moments with her mother in the adjoin- 
ing room. Calling to the trusty negro who per- 
formed such offices in his household, the pastor gave 
orders for the securing of the house, and retired to his 
chamber also. July — the name of the negro — pro- 
ceeded to fasten the windows, which was done by 
means of a wooden bolt ; and thrusting a thick bar of 
knotted pine into hooks on either side of the door, he 
coolly threw himself down to his own slumbers along- 
side of it. We need scarcely add, knowing the sus- 
ceptibility of the black in this particular, that sleep was 
not slow in its approaches to the strongest tower in the 
citadel of his senses. The subtle deity soon mastered 
all his sentinels, and a snore, not the most scrupulous 
in the world, sent forth from the flattened but capa- 


cious nostrils, soon announced his entire conquest 
over the premises he had invaded. 

But though she retired to her chamber, Bess Mat- 
thews in vain sought for sleep. Distressed by the 
previous circumstances, and warmly excited as she 
had been by the trying character of the scene through 
which she had recently passed, she had vainly en- 
deavoured to find that degree of quiet, which she felt 
necessary to her mental not less than to her physical 
repose. After tossing fruitlessly on her couch for a 
fatiguing hour, she arose, and slightly unclosing the 
window, the only one in her chamber, she looked 
forth upon the night. It was clear, with many stars — 
a slight breeze bent the tree-tops, and their murmurs, 
as they swayed to and fro, were pleasant to her melan- 
choly fancies. How could she sleep when she thought 
of the voluntary risk taken by Harrison? Where 
was he then — in what danger, surrounded by what 
deadly enemies ? — perhaps under their very knives, 
and she not there to interpose — to implore for — to save 
him. How could she fail to love so much disinterested 
generosity — so much valour and adventure, taken, as 
with a pardonable vanity, she fondly thought, so much 
for her safety and for the benefit of hers. Thus mu- 
sing, thus watching, she lingered at the window, looking 
forth, but half conscious as she gazed, upon the thick 
woods, stretching away in black masses, of those old 
Indian forests. Just then, the moon rose calmly and 
softly in the east — a fresher breeze rising along with, 
and gathering seemingly with her ascent. The river 
wound partly before her gaze, and there was a long 
bright shaft of light — a pure white gleam, which 
even its ripples could not overcome or dissipate, 
borrowed from the pale orb just then swelling above 
it. Suddenly a canoe shot across the water in the 
distance — then another, and another — quietly, and with 
as little show of life, as if they were only the gloomy 
shades of the past generation's warriors. Not a voice, 
not a whisper — not even the flap of an oar, disturbed 
the deep hush of the scene ; and the little canoes that 


showed dimly in the river from afar, as soon as they 
had overshot the pale gleamy bar of the moon upon 
its bosom, were no longer perceptible. Musing upon 
these objects, with a vague feeling of danger, and an 
oppressive sense at the same time of exhaustion, 
which forbade any thing like a coherent estimate of 
the thoughts which set in upon her mind like so many 
warring currents, Bess left the window, and threw 
herself, listlessly yet sad, upon the side of the couch, 
vainly soliciting that sleep which seemed so reluc- 
tant to come. How slow was its progress — how long 
before she felt the haze growing over her eyelids. 
A sort of stupor succeeded — she was conscious of the 
uncertainty of her perception, and though still, at in- 
tervals, the beams from the fast ascending moon 
caught her eyes, they flitted before her like spiritual 
forms that looked on and came but to depart. These at 
length went from her entirely as a sudden gust closed 
the shutter, and a difficult and not very sound slumber 
came at last to her relief. 

A little before this, and with the first moment of the 
rise of the moon on the eastern summits, the watchful 
Hector, obedient to his orders, prepared to execute the 
charge which his master had given him at parting. 
Releasing Dugdale from the log to which he had been 
bound, he led the impatient and fierce animal down 
to the river's brink, and through the tangled route only 
known to the hunter. The single track, imperfectly 
visible in the partial light, impeded somewhat his prog- 
ress, so that the moon was fairly visible by the time 
he reached the river. This circumstance was pro- 
ductive of some small inconvenience to the faithful 
slave, since it proved him something of a laggard in 
his duty, and at the same time, from the lateness of 
the hour, occasioned no little anxiety in his mind for 
his master's safety. With a few words, well under- 
stood seemingly by the well-trained animal, he cheered 
him on, and pushing him to the slight trench made by 
the horse's hoof, clearly defined upon the path, and 
which had before been shown him, he thrust his nose 


gently down upon it, while taking from his head the 
muzzle, without which he must have been a dangerous 
neighbour to the Indians, for whose pursuit he had 
been originally trained by the Spaniards, in a system, 
the policy of which was still in part continued, or 
rather, of late, revived, by his present owner. 

" Now, gone — Dugdale, be off, da's a good dog, and 
look for your mossa. Dis he track — hark — hark — 
hark, dog — dis de track ob he critter. Nose 'em, old 
boy — nose 'em well. Make yourself good nigger, for 
you hab blessed mossa. Soon you go, now, better for 
bote. Hark 'em, boy, hark 'em, and hole 'em fast." 

The animal seemed to comprehend — looked intelli- 
gently up into the face of his keeper, then stooping 
down, carefully drew a long breath, as he scented the 
designated spot, coursed a few steps quickly around it, 
and then, as if perfectly assured, sent forth a long deep 
bay, and set off on the direct route with all the fieet- 
ness of a deer. 

" Da, good dog dat, dat same Dugdale. But he hab 
reason — Hector no gib 'em meat for noting. Spaniard 
no teach 'em better, and de Lord hab mercy 'pon dem 
Ingin, eff he once stick he teet in he troat. He 
better bin in de fire, for he nebber leff off, long as he 
kin kick. Hark — da good dog, dat same Dugdale. 
Wonder way mossa pick up da name for 'em ; speck 
he Spanish — in English, he bin Dogdale." 

Thus soliloquizing after his own fashion, the negro 
turned his eyes in the direction of the strange vessel, 
lying about a mile and a half above the bank upon 
which he stood, and now gracefully outlined by the 
soft light of the moon. She floated there, in the 
bosom of the stream, still and silent as a sheeted 
spectre, and to all appearance with quite as little life. 
Built after the finest models of her time, and with a 
distinct regard to the irregular pursuits in which she 
was engaged, her appearance carried to the mind an 
idea of lightness and swiftness which was not at 
variance with her character. The fairy-like tracery 
of her slender masts, her spars, and cordage, harmo- 


nized well with the quiet water upon which she rested 
like some native bird, and with the soft and luxuriant 
foliage covering the scenery around, just then coming 
out from shadow into the gathering moonbeams. 

While the black looked, his eye was caught by 
a stir upon the bank directly opposite, and at length, 
shooting out from the shelter of cane and rush which 
thickly fringed a small lagune in that direction, he dis- 
tinctly saw eight or ten large double canoes making 
for the side of the river upon which he stood. They 
seemed filled with men, and their paddles were moved 
with a velocity only surpassed by the silence which 
accompanied their use. The mischief was now suffi- 
ciently apparent, even to a mind so obtuse as that of the 
negro ; and without risking any thing by personal 
delay, but now doubly aroused in anxiety for his mas- 
ter, whose predictions he saw were about to be 
verified, he took his way back to the Block House, 
with a degree of hurry proportioned to what he felt 
was the urgency of the necessity. It did not take 
him long to reach the Block House, into which he soon 
found entrance, and gave the alarm. Proceeding to 
the quarter in which the wife of Granger kept her 
abode, he demanded from her a knife — all the weapon 
he wanted — while informing her, as he had already 
done those having charge of the fortress, of the ap- 
proaching enemy. 

" What do you want with the knife, Hector ?" 

" I want 'em, misses — da's all — I guine after mossa." 

" What ! the captain 1 — why, where is he, Hector?" 

" Speck he in berry much trouble. I must go see 

arter 'em. Dugdale gone 'ready — Dugdale no better 

sarbant dan Hector. Gib me de knife, misses — dat 

same long one I hab for cut he meat." 

" But, Hector, you can be of very little good if the 
Indians are out. You don't know where to look for 
the captain, and you'll tread on them as you go through 
the bush." 

" I can't help it, misses — I must go. I hab hand 
and foot — I hab knife — I hab eye for see — 1 hab toot 


for bite — I 'trong, misses, and I must go look for 
mossa. God! misses, if any ting happen to mossa, 
wha Hector for do 1 where he guine — who be he new 
mossa? I must go, misses — gib me de knife." 

" Well, Hector, if you will go, here's what you want. 
Here's the knife, and here's your master's gun. You 
must take that too," said the woman. 

" No — I tank you for noting, misses. I no want 
gun; I fraid ob 'em; he kin shoot all sides. I no like 
'em. Gib me knife. I use to knife — I kin scalp dem 
Injin wid knife after he own fashion. But I no use to 

" Well, but your master is used to it. You must 
carry it for him. He has no arms, and this may save 
his life. Hold it so, and there's no danger." 

She showed the timid Hector how to carry the 
loaded weapon so as to avoid risk to himself, and per- 
suaded of its importance to his master, he ventured to 
take it. 

" Well, dat 'nough — I no want any more. I gone, 
misses, I gone — but 'member — ef mossa come back 
and Hector loss — 'member, I say, I no runway — 'mem- 
ber dat. I scalp — I drown — I dead — ebbery ting hap- 
pen to me — but I no runway." 

With these last words, the faithful black started 
upon his adventure of danger, resolute and strong, in 
the warm affection which he bore his master, to con- 
tend with every form of difficulty. He left the gar- 
rison at the Block House duly aroused to the conflict, 
which they were now satisfied was not far off 



" Oh ! wherefore strike the beautiful, the young. 
So innocent, unharming ? Lift the knife, 
If need be, 'gainst the warrior ; but forbear 
The trembling woman." 

Let us now return to the chamber of Bess Matthews. 
She slept not soundly, but unconsciously, and heard 
not the distant but approaching cry — " Sangarrah-me 
— Sangarrah-me !" The war had begun ; and in the 
spirit and with the words of Yemassee battle, the thirst 
for blood was universal among their warriors. From 
the war-dance, blessed by the prophet, stimulated by 
his exhortations, and warmed by the blood of their 
human sacrifice, they had started upon the' war-path in 
every direction. The larger division, led on by Sanutee 
and the prophet, took their course directly for Charles- 
town, while Ishiagaska, heading a smaller party, pro- 
ceeded to the frontier settlements upon the Pocota- 
ligo, intending massacre along the whole line of the 
white borders, including the now flourishing town 
of Beaufort. From house to house, with the stealth 
of a cat, he led his band to indiscriminate slaughter, 
and diverging with this object from one settlement to 
another, he continued to reach every dwelling-place of 
the whites known to him in that neighbourhood. But 
in many he had been foiled. The providential ar- 
rangement of Harrison, wherever, in the brief time 
allowed him, he had found it possible, had rendered 
their design in great part innocuous throughout that 
section, and duly angered with his disappointment, it 
was not long before he came to the little cottage of the 
pastor. The lights had been all extinguished, and, 
save on the eastern side, the dwelling lay in the deep- 
est shadow. The quiet of the whole scene formed 


An admirable contrast to the horrors gathering in per- 
spective, and about to destroy^ its sacred and sweet 
repose for ever. 

With the wonted caution of the Indian, Ishiagaska 
led on his band in silence. No sound was permitted 
to go before the assault. The war-whoop, with which 
they anticipate or accompany the stroke of battle, was 
not suffered in the present instance to prepare with a 
salutary terror the minds of their destined victims. 
Massacre, not battle, was the purpose, and the secret 
stratagem of the marauder usurped the fierce habit of 
the avowed warrior. Passing from cover to cover, the 
wily savage at length approached the cottage with his 
party. He stationed them around it, concealed each 
under his tree. He alone advanced to the dwelling 
with the stealth of a panther. Avoiding the clear 
path of the moon, he availed himself, now of one and 
now of another shelter — the bush, the tree — whatever 
might afford a concealing shadow in his approach ; 
and where this was wanting, throwing himself flat 
upon the ground, he crawled on like a serpent — now 
lying close and immoveable, now taking a new start 
and hurrying in his progress, and at last placing him- 
self successfully alongside of the little white paling 
which fenced in the cottage, and ran at a little dis- 
tance around it. He parted the thong which secured 
the wicket with his knife, ascended the little avenue, 
and then, giving ear to every quarter of the dwelling, 
and finding all still, proceeded on tiptoe to try the 
fastenings of every window. The door he felt was 
secure — so was each window in the body of the house 
which he at length encompassed, noting every aperture 
in it. At length he came to the chamber where Bess 
Matthews slept, — a chamber forming one half of the 
little shed, or addition to the main dwelling — the other 
half being occupied for the same purpose by her 
parents. He placed his hand gently upon the shutter, 
and with savage joy he felt it yield beneath his touch. 

The moment Ishiagaska made this discovery, he 
silently retreated to a little distance from the dwelling, 


and with a signal which had been agreed upon — the 
single and melancholy note of the whip-poor-will, he 
gave notice to his band for their approach. Imitating 
his previous caution, they came forward individually 
to the cottage, and gathering around him, under the 
shadow of a neighbouring tree, they duly arranged the 
method of surprise. 

This done, under the guidance of Ishiagaska, they 
again approached the dwelling, and a party having 
been stationed at the door in silence, another party 
with their leader returned to the window which was 
accessible. Lifted quietly upon the shoulders of two 
of them, Ishiagaska was at once upon a level with it. 
He had already drawn it aside, and by the light of the 
moon which streamed into the little apartment, he was 
enabled with a single glance to take in its contents. 
The half-slumbering girl felt conscious of a sudden 
press of air — a rustling sound, and perhaps a darken- 
ing shadow ; but the obtrusion was not sufficient to 
alarm into action, faculties which had been so very 
much unbraced and overborne by previous exertion, 
under the exciting thoughts which had so stimulated, 
and afterward so frustrated them. She lay motionless, 
and the wily savage descended to the floor with all the 
velvet-footed stealthiness of design, surveying silently 
all the while the reclining and beautiful outline of his 
victim's person. And she was beautiful — the ancient 
worship might well have chosen such an offering in 
sacrifice to his choice demon. Never did her beauty 
show forth more exquisitely than now, when murder 
stood nigh, ready to blast it for ever, hurrying the sacred 
fire of life from the altar of that heart which had 
maintained itself so well worthy of the heaven from 
whence it came. Ishiagaska looked on, but with no 
feeling inconsistent with the previous aim which had 
brought him there. The dress had fallen low from 
her neck, and in the meek, spiritual light of the moon, 
the soft, wavelike heave of the scart>e living principle 
within her bosom was like that of .some blessed thing 
susceptible of death, yet at the same time strong in 


the possession of the most exquisite developments 
of life. Her long tresses hung about her neck, reliev- 
ing, but not concealing, its snowy whiteness. One arm 
fell over the side of the couch, nerveless, but soft 
and snowy as the frostwreath lifted by the capricious 
wind- The other lay pressed upon her bosom above 
her heart, as if restraining tbose trying apprehensions 
which had formed so large a portion of her prayers 
upon retiring. It was a picture for any eye but that 
of the savage — a picture softening any mood but that 
of the habitual murderer. It worked no change in the 
ferocious soul of Ishiagaska. He looked, but without 
emotion. Nor did he longer hesitate. Assisting 
another of the Indians into the apartment, who passed 
at once through it into the hall adjoining, the door of 
which he was to unbar for the rest, Ishiagaska now 
approached the couch, and drawing his knife from the 
sheath, the broad blade was uplifted, shining bright 
in the moonbeams, and the inflexible point bore down 
upon that sweet, white round, in which all was loveli- 
ness, and where was all of life — the fair bosom, the 
pure heart, where the sacred principles of purity 
and of vitality had at once their abiding place. With 
one hand he lifted aside the long white finger that lay 
upon it, and in the next instant the blow was given ; 
but the pressure of his grasp, and at the same moment 
the dazzling light of the moon, directed from the blade 
under her very lids, brought instant consciousness to 
the maiden. It was an instinct that made her grasp 
the uplifted arm with a strength of despairing nature, 
not certainly her own. She started with a shriek, and 
the change of position accompanying her movement, 
and the unlooked-for direction and restraint given to 
his arm, when, in that nervous grasp, she seized impar- 
tially diverted the down-descending weapon of death. 
It grazed slightly aside, inflicting a wound of which 
at that moment she was perfectly unconscious. Again 
she cried out with a convulsive scream, as she saw 
him transfer the knife from the one to the other hand. 
For a few seconds her struggles were all-powerful, and 


kept back for that period of time the fate which had 
been so certain. But what could the frail spirit, the 
soft hand, the unexercised muscles avail or achieve, 
against such an enemy and in such a contest. With 
another scream, as of one in a last agony, conscious- 
ness went from her in the conviction of the perfect 
fruitlessness of the contest. With a single apos- 
trophe — 

" God be merciful — father — Gabriel, save me — Ga- 
briel — Ah ! God, God— he cannot — " her eye closed, 
and she lay supine under the knife of the savage. 

But the first scream which she uttered had reached 
the ears of her father, who had been more sleepless 
than herself. The scream of his child had been suf- . 
flcient to give renewed activity and life to the limbs of 
the aged pastor. Starting from his couch, and seizing 
upon a massive club which stood in the corner of his 
chamber, he rushed desperately into the apartment of 
Bess, and happily in time. Her own resistance had 
been sufficient to give pause for this new succour, and 
it ceased just when the old man, now made conscious 
of the danger, cried aloud in the spirit of his faith, 
while striking a blow which, effectually diverting 
Ishiagaska from the maiden, compelled him to defend 

"Strike with me, Father of Mercies," cried the old 
Puritan — " strike with thy servant — thou who struck 
with David and with Gideon, and who swept thy waters 
against Pharaoh — strike with the arm of thy poor in- 
strument. Make the savage to bite the dust, while I 
strike — I slay in thy name, Oh ! thou avenger — even 
in the name of the Great Jehovah." 

And calling aloud in some such apostrophe upon the 
name of the Deity at every effort which he 'made with 
his club, the old pastor gained a temporary advantage 
over the savage, who, retreating from his first furious 
assault to the opposite side of the couch, enabled him 
to place himself alongside of his child. Without 
giving himself a moment even to her restoration, with 
a paroxysm that really seemed from heaven, he ad- 


vanced upon his enemy — the club swinging over his 
head with an exhibition of strength that was remark- 
able in so old a man. Ishiagaska pressed thus, un- 
willing with his knife to venture within its reach, had 
recourse to his tomahawk, which hurriedly he threw 
at the head of his approaching assailant. But the aim 
was wide — the deadly weapon flew into the opposite 
wall, and the blow of the club rung upon the head of 
the Indian with sufficient effect, first to stagger, and 
then to bring him down. This done, the old man 
rushed to the window, where two other savages were 
labouring to elevate a third to the entrance, and with 
another sweep of his mace he defeated their design, 
by crushing down the elevated person whose head 
and hands were just above the sill of the window. 
In their confusion, drawing to the shutter, he securely 
bolted it, and then turned with all the aroused affec- 
tions of a father to the restoration of his child. 

Meanwhile, the Indian who had undertaken to un- 
close the main entrance for his companions, ignorant 
of the sleeping negro before it, stumbled over him. 
July, who, like most negroes suddenly awaking, was 
stupid and confused, rose however with a sort of in- 
stinct, and rubbing his eyes with the fingers of one 
hand, he stretched out the other to the bar, and with- 
out being at all conscious of what he was doing, 
lifted it from its socket. He was soon brought to a 
sense of his error, as a troop of half naked savages 
rushed through the opening, pushing him aside with a 
degree of violence which soon taught him his danger. 
He knew now that they were enemies ; and with the 
uplifted bar still in his hand, he felled the foremost of 
those around him — who happened to be the fellow who 
first stumbled over him — and rushed bravely enough 
among the rest. But the weapon he made use of 
was an unwieldy one, and not at all calculated for such 
a contest. He was soon taught to discover this, fatally, 
when it swung uselessly around, was put aside by 
one of the more wily savages, who, adroitly closingin 
with the courageous negro, soon brought him to the 


ground. In falling, however, he contrived to grapple 
with his more powerful enemy, and down in a close 
embrace they went together. But the hatchet was in 
the hand of the Indian, and a moment after his fall it 
crushed into the scull of the negro. Another and 
another blow followed, and soon ended the struggle. 
While the pulse was still quivering in his heart, and 
ere his eyes had yet closed in the swimming convul- 
sions of death, the negro felt the sharp blade of the 
knife sweeping around his head. The conqueror was 
about to complete his triumph by taking off the scalp of 
his victim, " as ye peel the fig when the fruit is fresh," 
when a light, borne by the half dressed lady of the 
pastor, appeared at the door of her chamber, giving 
life to the scene of blood and terror going on in the 
hall. At the same moment, followed by his daughter, 
who vainly entreated him to remain in the chamber, 
the pastor rushed headlong forward, wielding the club, 
so successful already against one set of enemies, in 
contest with another. 

" Go not, father — go not," she cried earnestly, now 
fully restored to the acutest consciousness, and cling- 
ing to him passionately all the while. 

" Go not, John, I pray you — " implored the old lady, 
endeavouring to arrest him. But his impulse, under 
all circumstances, was the wisest policy. He could 
not hope for safety by hugging his chamber, and a bold 
struggle to the last — a fearless heart, ready hand, and 
teeth clinched with a fixed purpose — are true reason 
when dealing with the avowed enemy. A furious in- 
spiration seemed to fill his heart as he went forward, 
crying aloud — 

" I fear not. The buckler of Jehovah is over his 
servant. I go under the banner — I fight in the service 
of God. Keep me not back, woman — has he not said 
— shall I misbelieve — he will protect his servant. He 
will strike with the shepherd, and the wolf shall be 
smitten from the fold. Avoid thee, savage, avoid thee 
— unloose thee from thy prey. The sword of the 
Lord and of Gideon !" 


Thus saying, he rushed like one inspired upon the 
savage whose knife had already swept around the head 
of the negro. The scalping of July's head was a more 
difficult matter than the Indian had dreamed of, fighting 
in the dark. It was only when he laid hands upon it 
that he found the difficulty of taking a secure hold. 
There was no war-tuft to seize upon, and the wool had 
been recently abridged by the judicious scissors. He 
had, accordingly, literally, to peel away the scalp by 
the flesh itself. The pastor interposed just after he 
had begun the operation. 

"Avoid thee, thou bloody Philistine — give up thy 
prey. The vengeance of the God of David is upon 
thee. In his name I strike, I slay." 

As he shouted he struck a headlong, a heavy blow, 
which, could it have taken effect, would most probably 
have been fatal. But the pastor knew nothing of the 
arts of war, and though on his knees over the negro, 
and almost under the feet of his new assailant, the 
Indian was too " cunning of fence," too well practised in 
strategy, to be overcome in this simple manner. With 
a single jerk which completed his labour, he tore the 
reeking scalp from the head of the negro, and dropping 
his own at the same instant on a level with the floor, 
the stroke of the pastor went clean over it ; and the 
assailant himself, borne forward incontinently by the 
ill-advised effort, was hurried stunningly against the 
wall of the apartment, and in the thick of his enemies. 
In a moment they had him down — the club wrested 
from his hands, and exhaustion necessarily following 
such prodigious and unaccustomed efforts in so old a 
man, he now lay without effort under the knives of his 

With the condition of her father, all fear, all stupor, 
passed away instantly from the mind of Bess Matthews. 
She rushed forward — she threw herself between them 
and their victim, and entreated their knives to her heart 
rather than to his. Clasping the legs of the warrior 
immediately bestriding the body of the old man, with 
all a woman's and a daughter's eloquence, she prayed 


for pity. But she spoke to unwilling ears, and to 
senses that, scorning any such appeal in their own 
case looked upon them with sovereign contempt when 
made by others. She saw this in the grim smile with 
which he heard her apostrophes. His white teeth, 
peering out between the dusky lips which enclosed 
them, looked to her fears like those of the hungry tiger 
gnashing with delight at the banquet of blood at last 
spread before it. While yet she spoke, his hand tore 
away from her hair a long and glittering ornament 
which had confined it — another tore from her neck the 
clustering necklace which could not adorn it ; and the 
vain fancies of the savage immediately appropriated 
them as decorations for his own person — her Own 
head-ornament being stuck most fantastically in the 
long, single tuft of hair — the war-tuft, and all that is 
left at that period — of him who had seized it. She 
saw how much pleasure the bauble imparted, and a 
new suggestion o( her thought gave her a momentary 

" Spare him — spare his life, and thou shalt have 
more — thou shalt have beads, and rings. Look — look," 
— and the jewelled ring from her finger, and another, 
a sacred pledge from Harrison, were given into his 
grasp. He seized them with avidity. 

" Good — good — more !" cried the ferocious but friv- 
olous savage, in the few words of broken English which 
he imperfectly uttered in reply to hers, which he well 
understood, for such had been the degree of intimacy 
existing between the Yemassees and the settlers, that 
but few of the former were entirely ignorant of some- 
portions of the language of the latter. So far, some- 
thing had been gained in pleasing her enemy. She 
rushed to the chamber, and hurried forth with a little 
casket, containing a locket, and sundry other trifles 
commonly found in a lady's cabinet. Her mother, in 
the meanwhile, having arranged her dress, hurriedly 
came forth also, provided, in like manner, with all such 
jewels as seemed most calculated to win the mercy 
which they sought. They gave all into his hands, 


and, possibly, had he been alone, these concessions 
would have saved them, — their lives at least, — for 
these, now the spoils of the individual savage to whom 
they were given, had they been found in the sack of 
the house, must have been common stock with all of 
them. But the rest of the band were not disposed for 
mercy when they beheld such an appropriation of their 
plunder, and while they were pleading with the savage 
for the life of the pastor, Ishiagaska, recovered from 
the blow which had stunned him, entering the apart- 
ment, immediately changed the prospects of all the 
party. He was inflamed to double ferocity by the 
stout defence which had been offered where he had 
been taught to anticipate so little ; and with a fierce 
cry, seizing Bess by the long hair which, from the loss 
of her comb, now streamed over her shoulders, he waved 
the tomahawk in air, bidding his men follow his ex- 
ample and do execution upon the rest. Another savage, 
with the word, seized upon the old lady. These sights 
re-aroused the pastor. With a desperate effort he 
threw the knee of his enemy from his breast, and was 
about to rise, when the stroke of a stick from one of 
the captors descended stunningly, but not fatally, and 
sent him once more to the ground. 

" Father — father ! — God of mercy — look, mother ! 
they have slain him — they have slain my father !" and 
she wildly struggled with her captor, but without avail. 
There was but a moment now, and she saw the hatchet 
descending. That moment was for prayer, but the 
terror was too great ; for as she beheld the whirling arm 
and the wave of the glittering steel, she closed her 
eyes, and insensibility came to her relief, while she 
sunk down under the feet of the savage — a simultaneous 
movement of the Indians placing both of her parents 
at the same moment in anticipation of the same awful 



" Captives, at midnight, whither lead you them, 
Heedless of tears and pity, all unmoved 
At their poor hearts' distress ? Yet, spare their lives." 

The blow was stayed — the death, deemed inevitable^ 
was averted — the captives lived. The descending arm 
was arrested — the weapon thrown aside, and a voice 
of authority, at the most interesting juncture in the lives 
of the prisoners, interposed for their safety. The new 
comer was Chorley, the captain of the pirate, heading 
his troop of marines, and a small additional force of 
Indians. He was quite as much rejoiced as the cap- 
tives, that he came in time for their relief. It was not 
here his policy to appear the man of blood, or to destroy, 
though mercilessly destructive wherever he appeared 
before. There were in the present instance many rea- 
sons to restrain him. The feeling of "auld lang syne" 
alone may have had its effect upon his mood ; and, 
though not sufficiently potent, perhaps, for purposes of 
pity in a bosom otherwise so pitiless, yet, strength- 
ened by a passion for the person of Bess Matthews, it 
availed happily to save the little family of the pastor. 
Their safety, indeed, had been his object, and he had 
hurried toward their dwelling with the first signal of 
war, as he well knew the dangers to which they would 
be exposed, should he not arrive in season, from the 
indiscriminate fury of the savages. But the circuitous 
route which he had been compelled to take, together 
with the difficulties of the forest to sailors, to whom a 
march through the tangled woods was something unu- 
sual, left him considerably behind the party led on by 
Ishiagaska. Arriving in time to save, however, Chor- 
ley was not displeased that he had been delayed so 
long. There was a merit in his appearance at a mo- 


ment so perilous, which promised him advantages he 
had not contemplated before. He could now urge a 
claim to the gratitude of the maiden, for her own and 
the safety of her parents, upon which he built strongly 
in his desire to secure her person, if not her heart. This, 
at least, under all circumstances, he had certainly de- 
termined upon. 

He came at the last moment, but he came in time. 
He was well fitted for such a time, for he was bold and 
decisive. With a muscle of iron he grasped the arm 
of the savage, and thrust him back from his more del- 
icate victim, while, with a voice of thunder, sustained 
admirably by the close proximity of the muskets borne 
by the marines, he commanded the savages to yield 
their prisoners. A spear-thrust from one of his men 
enforced the command, which was otherwise disre- 
garded, in the case of the Indian bestriding Mr. Mat- 
thews, and the old pastor stood once more erect. But 
Ishiagaska, the first surprise being over, was not so 
disposed to yield his captives. 

" Will the white brother take the scalps from Ishia- 
gaska ? Where was the white brother when Ishiagaska 
was here ] He was on the blind path in the woods — 
I heard him cry like the lost child for the scouts of 
Ishiagaska. It was Ishiagaska who crept into the 
wigwam of the white prophet — look ! The white 
prophet can strike — the mark of his club is on the 
head of a great chief — but not to slay. Ishiagaska has 
won the English- — they are the slaves of the Yemassee 
—he can take their scalps — he can drink their blood — 
he can tear out their hearts !" 

" I'll be damned if he does, though, while I am here. 
Fear not, Matthews, old boy — and you, my beauty 
bird — have no fear. You are all safe — he takes my 
life before he puts hands on you, by Santiago, as the 
Spaniards swear. Hark ye, Ishiagaska — do you un- 
derstand what I say ?" 

" The Yemassee has ears for his brother — let him. 
speak," replied the chief, sullenly. 

" That means that you understand me, I suppose — 


though it doesn't say so exactly. Well, then — listen. 
I'll take care of these prisoners, and account for them 
to the Governor of Saint Augustine." 

" The white prophet and the women are for Ishia- 
gaska. Let our brother take his own scalps. Ishia- 
gaska strikes not for the Spaniard — he is a warrior of 

"Well, then, I will account to your people for them, 
but they are my prisoners now." 

" Is not Ishiagaska a chief of the Yemassees — shall 
the stranger speak for him to his people ? Our white 
brother is like a cunning bird that is lazy. He looks 
out from the tree all day, and when the other bird 
catches the green fly, he steals it out of his teeth. 
Ishiagaska catches no fly for the teeth of the stran- 

" Well, as you please ; but, by God, you may give 
them up civilly or not ! They are mine now, and yon 
may better yourself as you can." 

The brow of the Indian, stormy enough before, put 
on new terrors, and without a word he rushed fiercely 
at the throat of the sailor, driving forward one hand for 
that purpose, while the other aimed a blow at his head 
with his hatchet. But the sailor was sufficiently 
familiar with Indian warfare, not less than war of most 
other kinds, and seemed to have anticipated some 
such assault. His readiness in defence was fully 
equal to the suddenness of the assault. He adroitly 
evaded the direct attack, bore back the erring weapon 
with a stroke that sent it wide from the owner's hand, 
and grasping him by the throat, waved him to and fro 
as an infant in the grasp of a giant. The followers of 
the chief, not discouraged by this evidence of superi- 
ority, or by the greater number of seamen with their 
white ally, rushed forward to his rescue, and the prob- 
ability is that the affair would have been one of mixed 
massacre but for the coolness of Chorley. 

" Men — each his man ! short work, as I order. 
Drop muskets, and close handsomely." 

The order was obeyed with promptitude, and the 


Indians were belted in, as by a hoop of iron, without 
room to lift a hatchet or brandish a knife, while each 
of the whites had singled out an enemy, at whose 
breast a pistol was presented. The sailor captain in 
the meanwhile appropriated Ishiagaska to himself, 
and closely encircled him with one powerful arm, 
while the muzzle of his pistol rested upon the Indian's 
head. But the affair was suffered to proceed no far- 
ther, in this way, by him who had now the chief man- 
agement. The Indians were awed, and though they 
still held out a sullen attitude of defiance, Chorley, 
whose desire was that control of the savages with- 
out which he could hope to do nothing, was satisfied 
of the adequacy of what he had done toward his ob- 
ject. Releasing his own captive, therefore, with a 
stentorian laugh, he addressed Ishiagaska: — 

" That's the way, chief, to deal with the enemy. 
But we are no enemies of yours, and have had fun 

" It is fun for our white brother," was the stem and 
dry response. 

" Ay, what else — devilish good fun, I say — though, 
to be sure, you did not seem to think so. But I sup- 
pose I am to have the prisoners." 

" If our brother asks with his tongue, we say no — 
if he asks with his teeth, we say yes." 

" Well, I care not, damn my splinters, Ishy — 
whether you answer to tongue or teeth, so that you 
answer as I want you. I'm glad now that you speak 
what is reasonable." 

" Will our brother take the white prophet and the 
women, and give nothing to the Yemassee ? The 
English buy from the Yemassee, and the Yemassee 
gets when he gives." 

"Ay, I see — you have learned to trade, and know 
how to drive a bargain. But you forget, chief, you 
have had all in the house." 

" Good — .and the prisoners — they are scalps for 
Ishiagaska. But our brother would have them for 
himself, and will give his small gun for them." 

Vol. II, 


The offer to exchange the captives for the pistol in 
his hand, caused a momentary hesitation in the mind 
of the pirate. He saw the lurking malignity in the 
eye of the savage, and gazed fixedly upon him, then, 
suddenly seeming to determine, he exclaimed, — 

" Well, it's a bargain. The captives are mine, and 
here's the pistol." 

Scarcely had the weapon been placed in the hands 
of the wily savage, when he hastily thrust it at the head 
of the pirate, and crying aloud to his followers, who 
echoed it lustily, " Sangarrah-me — Yemassee," he 
drew the trigger. A loud laugh from Chorley was all 
the response that followed. He had seen enough of 
the Indian character to have anticipated the result of 
the exchange just made, and gave him a pistol there- 
fore which had a little before been discharged. The 
innocuous effort upon his life, accordingly, had been 
looked for ; and having made it, the Indian, whose 
pride of character had been deeply mortified by the 
indignity to which the sport of Chorley had just sub- 
jected him, folded his arms patiently as if in waiting 
for his death. This must have followed but for the 
ready and almost convulsive laugh of the pirate ; for 
his seamen, provoked to fury by the attempt, would 
otherwise undoubtedly have cut them all to pieces. 
The ready laugh, however, so unlooked-for — so seem- 
ingly out of place — kept them still ; and, as much sur- 
prised as the Indians, they remained as stationary too. 
A slap upon the shoulder from the heavy hand of the 
seaman aroused Ishiagaska with a start. 

" How now, my red brother — didst thou think I 
could be killed by such as thou ? Go to — thou art a 
child — a little boy. The shot can't touch me — the 
sword can't cut — the knife can't stick — I have a charm 
from the prophet of the Spaniards. I bought it and 
a good wind, with a link of this blessed chain, and have 
had no reason to repent my bargain. Those are the 
priests, friend Matthews — now you don't pretend to 
such a trade. What good can your preaching do to 


sailors or soldiersj when we can get such bargains for 
so little?" 

The pastor, employed hitherto in sustaining the form 
of his still but half conscious daughter, had been a 
silent spectator of this strange scene. But he now, 
finding as long as it lasted that the nerves of Bess 
would continue unstrung, seized the opportunity af- 
forded by this appeal, to implore that they might be 
relieved of their savage company. 

" What, and you continue here f replied the sailor. 
" No, no — that's impossible. They would murder you 
the moment I am gone." 

" What then are we to do — where go — where find 
safety ? ' 

" You must go with me — with my party, alone, will 
you be safe, and while on shore you must remain with 
us. After that, my vessel will give you shelter." 

" Never — never — dear father, say no — better that 
we should die by the savage," was the whispered and 
hurried language of Bess to her father as she heard 
this suggestion. A portion of her speech, only, was 
audible to the seaman. 

" What's that you say, my sweet bird of beauty — 
my bird of paradise ? — speak out, there is no danger." 

" She only speaks to me, captain," said the pastor, 
unwilling that the only protector they now had should 
be offended by an indiscreet remark. 

" Oh, father, that you had listened to Gabriel," mur- 
mured the maiden, as she beheld the preparations 
making for their departure with the soldiers. 

"Reproach me not now, my child — my heart is sore 
enough for that error of my spirit. It was a wicked 
pride that kept me from hearing and doing justice to 
that friendly youth." 

The kind word in reference to her lover almost 
banished all present fears from the mind of Bess Mat- 
thews ; and with tears that now relieved her, and 
which before this she could not have shed, she buried 
her head in the bosom of the old man. 

" We are friends again, Ishiagaska," extending his 


hand while he spoke, was the address of the seaman to 
the chief, as the latter took his departure from the 
dwelling on his way to the Block House. The prof- 
fered hand was scornfully rejected. 

" Is Ishiagaska a dog that shall come when you 
whistle, and put his tail between his legs when you 
storm ? The white chief has put mud on the head of 

" Well, go and be d d, who cares 1 By God, 

but for the bargain, and that the fellow may be useful, 
I could send a bullet through his red skin with ap- 

A few words now addressed to his captives, sufficed 
to instruct them as to the necessity of a present move- 
ment ; and a few moments put them in as great a 
state of readiness for their departure as, under such 
circumstances, they could be expected to make. The 
sailor, in the meantime, gave due directions to his fol- 
lowers ; and picking up the pistol which the indignant 
Ishiagaska had thrown away, he contented himself, 
while reloading it, with another boisterous laugh at 
the expense of the savage. Giving the necessary 
orders to his men, he approached the group, and 
tendered his assistance, especially to Bess Matthews. 
But she shrunk back with an appearance of horror, 
not surely justifiable, if reference is to be had only to 
his agency on the present occasion. But the instinc- 
tive delicacy of maidenly feeling had been more than 
once outraged in her bosom by the bold, licentious 
glance which Chorley had so frequently cast upon her 
charms ; and now, heightened as they were by cir- 
cumstances — by the dishevelled hair, and ill-adjusted 
garments — the daring look of his eye was enough to 
offend a spirit so delicately just, so sensitive, and so 
susceptible as hers. 

" What, too much of a lady — too proud, miss, to take 
the arm of a sailor ? Is it so, parson ? Have you taught 
so. much pride to your daughter]" 

" It is not pride, Master Chorley, you should know 
■ — but Bess has not well got over her fright, and it's but 


natural that she should look to her father first for pro- 
tection. It's not pride, not dislike, believe me," was 
the assiduous reply. 

" But there's no sense in that, now — for what sort 
of protection could you have afforded her if I hadn't 
come ? You'd ha' been all scalped to death, or there's 
no snakes." 

" You say true, indeed, Master Chorley. Our only 
hope was in God, who is above all, — to him we look — 
he will always find a protector for the innocent." 

" And not much from him either, friend Matthews — 
for all your prayers would have done you little good 
under the knife of the red-skins, if I had not come at 
the very moment." 

" True — and you see, captain, that God did send us 
help at the last trying moment." 

" Why, that's more than my mother ever said for me, 
parson — and more than I can ever say for myself. 
What, Dick Chorley the messenger of God ! — Ha ! ha ! 
ha ! — The old folks would say the devil rather, whose 
messenger I have been from stem to stern, man and boy, 
a matter now — but it's quite too far to go back." 

" Do not, I pray, Master Chorley," said the old man, 
gravely — " and know, that Satan himself is God's mes- 
senger, and must do his bidding in spite of his own 

" The deuse, you say. Old Nick, himself, God's mes- 
senger ! Well, that's new to me, and what the Cate- 
chism and old Meg never once taught me to believe. 
But I won't doubt you, for as it's your trade, you ought to 
know best, and we'll have no more talk on the subject. 
Come, old boy — my good Mrs. Matthews, and you, my 
sweet — all ready 1 Fall in, boys — be moving." 

" Where go we now, Master Chorley ?'] inquired 
the pastor. 

" With me, friend Matthews," was the simple and 
rather stern reply of the pirate, who arranged his 
troop around the little party, and gave orders to move. 
He would have taken his place beside the maid- 
en, but she studiously passed to the opposite arm of 


her father, so as to throw the pastor's person between 
them, in this manner the party moved oh, in the direc- 
tion of thu Block House, which the cupidity of Chor- 
ley hoped to find unguarded, and to which he hurried, 
with as much rapidity as possible, in order to be 
present at the sack. He' felt that it must be full of the 
valuables of all those who had sought its shelter, and 
with this desire he did not scruple to compel the cap- 
tives to keep pace with his party, as it was necessary, 
before proceedi ug to the assault, that he should place 
them in a condition of comparative safety. A small 
cot lay on the baaks of the river, a few miles from his 
vessel, and in sight of it. It was a rude frame of 
poles, covered with pine bark ; such as the Indian 
hunters leave behind them all over the country. To 
this spot he hurried, and there, under the charge of 
three marines, well armed, he left the jaded family 
dreading every change of condition as full of death, 
if not of other terrors even worse than death — and 
with scarcely a smaller apprehension of that condition 
itself. Having so done, he went onward to the work 
of destruction, where we shall again come up with 


" Is all prepared— all ready — for they come, 
I hear them in that strange cry through the wood." 

The inmates of the Block House, as we remembei 
had been warned by Hector of the probable approach 
of danger, and preparation was the word in conse- 
quence. But what was the preparation meant ? Under 
no distinct command, every one had his own favourite 
idea of defence, and all was confusion in their coun 
cils. The absence of Harrison, to whose direction all 


parties would most willingly have turned their ears, 
was now of the most injurious tendency, as it left 
them unprovided with any head, and just at the moment 
when a high degree of excitement prevailed against 
the choice of any substitute. Great bustle and little 
execution took the place of good order, calm opinion, 
deliberate and decided action. The men were ready 
enough to fight, and this readiness was an evil of itself, 
circumstanced as they were. To fight would have 
been madness then — to protract the issue and gain 
time was the object ; and few among the defenders of 
the fortress at that moment were sufficiently collected 
to see this truth. In reason, there was really but 
a single spirit in the Block House, sufficiently deliber- 
ate for the occasion — that spirit was a woman's — the 
wife of Granger. She had been the child of poverty 
and privation — the severe school of that best tutor, 
necessity, had made her equable and intrepid. She 
had looked suffering so long in the face, that she now 
regarded it without a tear. Her parents had never 
been known to her, and the most trying difficulties 
clung to her from infancy up to womanhood. So ex- 
ercised, her mind grew strong in proportion to its trials, 
and she had learned, in the end, to regard them with a 
degree of fearlessness far beyond the capacities of 
any well-bred heir of prosperity and favouring fortune. 
The same trials attended her after marriage — since the 
pursuits of her husband carried her into dangers, to 
which even he could oppose far less ability than 
his wife. Her genius soared infinitely beyond his 
own, and to her teachings was he indebted for many of 
those successes which brought him wealth in after 
years. She counselled his enterprises, prompted or 
persuaded his proceedings, managed for him wisely 
and economically ; in all respects proved herself un- 
selfish ; and if she did not at any time appear above 
the way of life they had adopted, she took care to 
maintain both of them from falling beneath it — a re- 
sult too often following the exclusive pursuit of gain. 
Her experience throughout life, hitherto, served her 


admirably now, when all was confusion among the 
councils of the men. She descended to the court 
below, where they made a show of deliberation, and, 
in her own manner, with a just knowledge of human 
nature, proceeded to give her aid in their general prog- 
ress. Knowing that any direct suggestion from a 
woman, and under circumstances of strife and trial, 
would necessarily offend the amour propre of the nobler 
animal, and provoke his derision, she pursued a sort of 
management which an experienced woman is usually 
found to employ as a kind of familiar — a wily little 
demon, that goes unseen at, her bidding, and does her 
business, like another Ariel, the world all the while 
knowing nothing about it. Calling out from the crowd 
one of those whom she knew to be not only the most 
collected, but the one least annoyed by any unneces- 
sary self-esteem, she was in a moment . joined by 
Grayson, and leading him aside, she proceeded to 
suggest various measures of preparation and defence, 
certainly the most prudent that had yet been made. 
This she did with so much unobtrusive modesty, that 
the worthy woodman took it for granted, all the while, 
that the ideas were properly his own. She concluded 
with insisting upon his taking the command. 

" But Nichols will have it all to himself. That's 
one of our difficulties now." 

"What of that? You may easily manage him 
Master Grayson." 

" How V he asked. 

" The greater number of the men here are of the 
' Green Jackets V " 

" Yes—" 

" And you are their lieutenant— next in command to 
Captain Harrison, and their first officer in his 
absence V 

" That's true 

" Command them as your troop exclusively, and 
don't mind the rest." 
. " But they will be offended." 

*" And if they are, Master Grayson, is this a time to 


heed their folly when the enemy's upon us 1 Let 
them. You do with your troop without heed to them, 
and they will fall into your ranks — they will work 
with you when the time comes." 

" You are right," was the reply ; and immediately 
going forward with a voice of authority, Grayson, call- 
ing only the " Green Jackets" around him, proceeded to 
organize them, and put himself in command, as first 
lieutenant of the only volunteer corps which the parish 
knew. The corps received the annunciation with a 
shout, and the majority readily recognised him. 
Nichols alone grumbled a little, but the minority was 
too small to offer any obstruction to Grayson's author- 
ity, so that he soon submitted with the rest. The 
command, all circumstances considered, was not im- 
properly given. Grayson, though not overwise, was 
decisive, and in matters of strife, wisdom itself must 
be subservient to resolution. Resolution in war is 
wisdom. The new commander numbered his force, 
placed the feeble and the young in the least trying 
situations — assigned different bodies to different sta- 
tions, and sent the women and children into the upper 
and most sheltered apartment. In a few moments, 
things were arranged for the approaching conflict with 
tolerable precision.. 

The force thus commanded by Grayson was small 
enough — the whole number of men in the Block 
House not exceeding twenty-five. The women and 
children within its shelter were probably twice that 
number. The population had been assembled in great 
part from the entire extent of country lying between 
the Block House and the Indian settlements. From 
the Block House downward to Port Royal Island, there 
had been no gathering to this point ; the settlers in 
that section, necessarily, in the event of a like diffi- 
culty, seeking a retreat to the fort on the island, which 
had its garrison already, and was more secure, and 
in another respect much more safe, as it lay more 
contiguous to the sea. The greater portion of the 
country immediately endangered from the Yemassees 


had been duly warned, and none but the slow, the in- 
different, and the obstinate, but had taken sufficient 
heed of the many warnings given them, as to have put 
themselves in safety. Numbers, however, coming 
under one or other of these classes, had fallen victims 
to their folly or temerity in the sudden onslaught 
which followed the first movement of the savages 
sent among them, who, scattering themselves over the 
country, had made their attack so nearly at the same 
time, as to defeat any thing like unity of action in the 
resistance which might be offered them. 

Grayson's first care in his new command was to get 
the women and children fairly out of the way. The 
close upper apartment of the Block House had been 
especially assigned them ; and there they had assem- 
bled generally. But some few of the old ladies were 
not to be shut up ; and his own good Puritan mother 
gave the busy commandant no little trouble. She 
went to and fro, interfering in this, preventing that, 
and altogether annoying the men to such a degree, 
that it became absolutely necessary to put on a show 
of sternness which it was the desire of all parties to 
avoid. With some difficulty and the assistance of 
Granger's wife, he at length got her out of the way, 
and to the great satisfaction of all parties, she worried 
herself to sleep in the midst of a Psalm, which she 
croned over to the dreariest tune in her whole collec- 
tion. Sleep had also fortunately seized upon the 
children generally, and but few, in the room assigned to 
the women, were able to withstand the approaches of 
that subtle magician. The wife of the trader, almost 
alone, continued watchful ; thoughtful in emergency, 
and with a ready degree of common sense, to contend 
with trial, and to prepare against it. The confused 
cluster of sleeping forms, in all positions, and of all 
sorts and sizes, that hour, in the apartment so occu- 
pied, was grotesque enough. One figure. alone, sitting 
in the midst, and musing with a concentrated mind, 
gave dignity to the ludicrous grouping — the majestic 
figure of Mary Granger — her dark eye fixed upon the 


silent and sleeping collection, in doubt and pity — her 
black hair bound closely upon her head, and her broad 
forehead seeming to enlarge and grow with the busy 
thought at work within it. Her hand, too — strange as- 
sociation — rested upon a hatchet. 

Having completed his arrangements with respect to 
the security of the women and children, and. put them 
fairly out of his way, Grayson proceeded to call a sort 
of council of war for farther deliberation ; and having 
put sentinels along the picket, and at different points 
of the building, the more " sage, grave men" of the gar- 
rison proceeded to their farther arrangements. These 
were four in number — one of them was Dick Grim- 
stead, the blacksmith, who, in addition to a little farm- 
ing, carried on when the humour took him, did the 
horse-shoeing and ironwork for his neighbours of ten 
miles round, and was in no small repute among them. 
He was something of a woodman too ; and hunting, 
and perhaps drinking, occupied no small portion of the 
time which might, with more profit to himself, have 
been given to his farm and smithy. Nichols, the rival 
leader of Grayson, was also chosen, with the view 
rather to his pacification than with any hope of good 
counsel to be got out of him. Granger, the trader, 
made the third ; and presiding somewhat as chairman, 
Grayson the fourth. We may add that the wife of 
the trader, who had descended to the lower apartment 
in the meantime, and had contrived to busy herself in 
one corner with some of the wares of her husband, 
was present throughout the debate. We may add, too, 
that at frequent periods of the deliberation, Granger 
found it necessary to leave the consultations of the 
council for that of his wife. 

" What are we to do ?" was the general question. 

" Let us send out a spy, and see what they are 
about," was the speech of one. 

" Let us discharge a few pieces, to let them know 
that, the servants of the people watch for them," said 


waste, after that fashion, the powder for which a bucK 
would say, thank you. If we are to shoot, let's put it 
to the red-skins themselves. What do you say ? 
Master Grayson?" 

" I say, keep quiet, and make ready." 

" Wouldn't a spy be of service ?" suggested Gran- 
ger, with great humility, recurring to his first prop- 

"Will you go?" was the blunt speech of the black- 
smith. " I don't see any good a spy can do us." 

" To see into their force." . , 

"That won't strengthen ours. No! I hold, Wat 
Grayson, to my mind. We must give the dogs powder 
and shot when we see 'em. There's, no other way— 
for here we are, and there they are. They're for fight, 
and will have our scalps, if we are not for fight too. 
We can't run, for there's no place to go to ; and besides 
that, I'm not used to running, and won't try to run 
from a red-skin. He shall chaw my bullet first." 

" To be sure," roared Nichols, growing remarkably 
valorous. " Battle, say I. Victory or death." 

" Well, Nichols, don't waste your breath now — you 
may want it before all's over — " growled the smith, with 
a most imperturbable composure of countenance, — 
" if it's only to beg quarter." 

" I beg quarter — never !" cried the doctor, fiercely. 

" It's agreed, then, that we are to fight — is that what 
We are to understand ?" inquired Grayson, desirous to 
bring the debate to a close, and to hush the little acer- 
bities going on between the doctor and the smith. 

" Ay, to be sure— what else ?" said Grimstead. 

" What say you, Granger?" 

" I say so too, sir — if they attack us — surely." 

" And you, Nichols 1" 

" Ay, fight, I say. Battle to the last drop of blood 
- — to the last moment of existence. Victory or death, 
ay, that's my word." 

" Blast me, Nichols — what a bellows," shouted tho 

" Mind your own bellows, Grimstead — it will be the 



better for you. Don't trouble yourself to meddle with 
mine — you may burn your fingers," retorted the dema- 
gogue, angrily. 

" Why, yes, if your breath holds hot long enough," 
was the sneering response of the smith, who seemed 
to enjoy the sport of teasing his windy comrade. 

" Come, come, men, no words," soothingly said the 
commander. " Let us look to the enemy. You are all 
agreed that we are to fight ; and, to say truth, we didn't 
want much thinking for that ; but how, is the question 
— how are we to do the fighting 1 Can we send out a 
party for scouts — can we spare the men V 

" I think not," said the smith, soberly. " It will re- 
quire all the men we have, and some of the women 
too, to keep watch at all the loop-holes. Besides, we 
have not arms enough, have we ?" 

"Not muskets, but other arms in abundance. What 
say you, Nichols — can we send out scouts ?" 

" Impossible ! we cannot spare them, and it will 
only expose them to be cut up by a superior enemy. 
No, sir, it will be the nobler spectacle to perish, like 
men, breast to breast. I, for one, am willing to die for 
the people. I will not survive my country." 

" Brave man !" cried the smith — " but I'm not 
willing to die at all, and therefore I would keep snug 
and stand 'em here. I can't skulk in the bush, like 
Granger ; I'm quite too fat for that. Though I'm sure, 
if I were such a skeleton sort of fellow as Nichols 
there, I'd volunteer as a scout, and stand the Indian 
arrows all day." 

" I won't volunteer," cried Nichols, hastily. "It will 
6et a bad example, and my absence might be fatal." 

" But what if all volunteer ?" inquired the smith, 

" I stand or fall with the people," responded the 
demagogue, proudly. At that moment, a shrill scream 
of the whip-poor-will smote upon the senses of the 

"It is the Indians — that is a favourite cry of the 
Yemassees," said the wife of Granger. The com- 


pany started to their feet, and seized their weapons. 
As they were about to descend to the lower story, the 
woman seized upon the arm of Grayson, and craved his 
attendance in the adjoining apartment. He followed ; 
and leading him to the only window in the room, with- 
out disturbing any around her, she pointed out a fallen 
pine-tree, evidently thrown down within the night, 
which barely rested upon the side of the log house, . 
with all its branches, and but a few feet below the 
aperture through which they looked. The tree must 
have been cut previously, and so contrived as to fall 
gradually upon the dwelling. It was a small one, and 
by resting in its descent upon other intervening trees, 
its approach and contact with the dwelling had been 
unheard. This had probably taken place while the 
garrison had been squabbling below, with all the 
women and children listening and looking on. The 
apartment in which they stood, and against which the 
tree now depended, had been made, for greater security, 
without any loop-holes, the musketry being calculated 
for use in that adjoining and below. The danger 
arising from this new situation was perceptible at a 

" The window must be defended. Two stout men 
will answer. But they must have muskets," spoke the 

" They shall have them," said Grayson, in reply to 
the fearless and thoughtful person who spoke. " I will 
send Mason and your husband." 

Do — I will keep it till they come." 

" You ?" with some surprise, inquired Grayson. 

" Yes, Master Grayson — is there any thing strange 
in that ? I have no fears. Go — send your men." 

" But you will close the shutter." 

'] No — better, if they should come — better it should 
be open. If shut, we might be too apt to rest satisfied. 
Exposure compels watchfulness, and men make the 
best fortresses." 

Full of his new command, and sufficiently impressed 
with its importance, Grayson descended to the arrange- 


ment of his forces ; and, true to his promise, despatched 
Granger and Mason with muskets to the defence of 
the window, as had been agreed upon with the wife 
of the trader. They prepared to do so ; but, to their 
great consternation, Mason, who was a bulky man, had 
scarcely reached midway up the ladder leading to 
the apartment, when, snapping off in the middle, down 
it came ; in its destruction, breaking off all communica- 
tion between the upper and lower stories of the house 
until it could be repaired. To furnish a substitute 
was a difficult task, about which several of the men 
were set immediately. This accident deeply im- 
pressed the wife of the trader, even more than the 
defenders of the house below, with the dangers of 
their situation ; and in much anxiety, watchful and sad, 
she paced the room in which they were now virtually 
confined, in momentary expectation of the enemy. 


" The deep woods saw their battle, and the night 
Gave it a genial horror. Blood is there ; 
The path of battle is traced out in blood." 

Hugh Grayson, with all his faults, and they were 
many, was in reality a noble fellow. Full of a high 
ambition — a craving for the unknown and the vast, 
which spread itself vaguely and perhaps unattainably 
before his imagination — his disappointments very nat- 
urally vexed him somewhat beyond prudence, and 
now and then beyond the restraint of a right reason 
He usually came to a knowledge of his error, and his 
repentance was not less ready than his wrong. So in 
the present instance. The stern severity of those re- 
bukes which had fallen from the lips of Bess Matthews. 
had the effect upon him which she had anticipated. 
They brought out the serious determination of his 


manhood, and with due effort he discarded those 
feeble and querulous fancies which had been produc- 
tive of so much annoyance to her and others, and so 
much unhappiness to himself. He strove to forget the 
feelings of the jealous and disappointed lover, in the 
lately recollected duties of the man and citizen. 

With the good steed of Harrison, which, in the pres- 
ent service, he did not scruple to employ, he set off on 
the lower route, in order to beat up recruits for the 
perilous strife which he now began to believe, the 
more he thought of it, was in reality at hand. The 
foresters were ready, for one condition of security in 
border life was the willingness to volunteer in defence 
of one another ; and a five mile ride gave him as 
many followers. But his farther progress was stopped 
short by an unlooked-for circumstance. The tread of 
a body of horse reached the ears of his party, and they 
slunk into cover. Indistinctly, in the imperfect light, 
they discovered a mounted force of twenty or thirty 
men. Another survey made them out to be friends. 

" Who goes there ?" cried the leader, as Grayson 
emerged from the bush. 

" Friends — well met. There is still time," was the 

" 1 hope so — I have pushed for it," said the com- 
mander, " as soon as Sir Edmund gave the orders." 

" Ha ! you were advised then of this, and come 
from" — 

" Beaufort," cried the officer, " with a detachment of 
twenty-eight for the upper Block House. Is all well 
there ?" 

" Ay, when I left, but things are thought to look 
squally, and I have just been beating up volunteers for 

" 'Tis well — fall in, gentlemen, and good speed — 
but this cursed road is continually throwing me out. 
Will you undertake to guide us, so that no time may 
be lost!" 

" Ay — follow— we are now seven miles from the 


Block, and I am as familiar with the road, dark and 
light, as with my own hands." 

" Away then, men — away" — and, led by the younger 
Grayson, now fully aroused by the spirit of the scene, 
they hurried away at full speed, through the narrow 
trace leading to the Block House. They had ridden 
something like two thirds of the distance, when a dis- 
tant shot, then a shout, reached their ears, and com- 
pelled a pause for counsel, in order to avoid rushing 
into ambuscade. 

" A mile farther," cried Grayson — " a mile farther, 
and we must hide our horses in the woods, and take 
the bush on foot. Horse won't do here ; we shall make 
too good a mark ; and besides, riding ourselves, we 
should not be able to hear the approach of an enemy." 

A few moments after and they descended, each 
fastening his horse to a tree in the shelter of a little 
bay ; and, hurriedly organizing under Grayson's direc- 
tion, they proceeded, alive with expectation, in the 
direction of the fray. 

It is high time that we now return to our fugitive, 
whose escape from his Indian prison has already been 
recorded. Paddling his canoe with difficulty, Harri- 
son drew a long breath as it struck the opposite bank 
in safety. He had escaped one danger, but how 
many more, equally serious, had he not reason to an- 
ticipate in his farther progress ! He knew too well 
the character of Indian warfare, and the mode of as- 
sault proposed by them at present, not to feel that all 
the woods around him were alive with his enemies. 
That they ran along in the shadow of the trees, and 
lay in waiting for the steps of the flyer, alongside of 
the fallen tree. He knew his danger, but he had a 
soul well calculated for its trials. 

He leaped to the shore, and at the very first step 
which he took, a bright column of flame rose above the 
forests in the direction of the Graysons' cottage. It 
lay, not directly inhis path, but it reminded him of his 
duties, and he came to all the full decision marking 
his character as he pushed forward in that quarter. 


He was not long in reaching it, and the prospect realized 
many of his fears. The Indians had left their traces, 
and the dwelling was wrapped in flame, illuminating 
with a deep glare the surrounding foliage. He looked 
for other signs of their progress, but in vain. There 
was no blood, no mark of struggle, and his conclusion 
was, therefore, that the family had been able to effect 
its escape from the dwelling before the arrival of the 
enemy. This conviction was instantaneous, and he 
gave no idle time in surveying a scene, only full of a 
terrible warning. The thought of the whole frontier, 
and more than all, to his heart, the thought of Bess 
Matthews, and of the obstinate old father, drove him 
onward — the blazing ruins lighting his way some dis- 
tance through the woods. The rush of the wind, as 
he went forward, brought to his ears, at each moment 
and in various quarters, the whoops of the savage, re- 
duced to faintness by distance or cross currents of the 
breeze, that came here and there, through dense clus- 
ters of foliage. Now on one side and now on the other, 
they ascended to his hearing, compelling him capri- 
ciously to veer from point to point in the hope of avoid- 
ing them. He had not gone far when a second and sud- 
den volume of fire rushed up on one hand above the 
trees, and he could hear the crackling of the timber. 
Almost at the same instant, in an opposite direction, 
another burst of flame attested the mode of warfare 
adopted by the cunning savages, who, breaking into 
small parties of five or six in number, thus dispersed 
themselves over the country, making their attacks sim- 
ultaneous. This was the mode of assault best adapted 
to their enterprise ; and, but for the precautions taken 
in warning the more remote of the borderers to the 
protection of the Block House, their irruption, through- 
out its whole progress, had been marked in blood. 
But few of the settlers could possibly have escaped 
their knives. Defrauded however of their prey, the 
Indians were thus compelled to wreak their fury upon 
the unoccupied dwellings. 

Dreading" to make new and more painful discoveries, 


but with a spirit nerved for any event, Harrison kept 
on his course with unrelaxing effort, till he came to 
the dwelling of an old German, an honest but poor 
settler, named Van Holten. The old man lay on his 
threshold insensible. His face was prone to the 
ground, and he was partially stripped of his clothing. 
Harrison turned him over, and discovered a deep wound 
upon his breast, made seemingly with a knife — a 
hatchet stroke appeared upon his forehead, and the 
scalp was gone — a red and dreadfully lacerated scull 
presented itself to his sight, and marked another of 
those features of war so terribly peculiar to the Ameri 
can border struggles. The man was quite dead ; but 
the brand thrown into his cabin had failed, and the 
dwelling was unhurt by the fire. On he went, roused 
into new exertion by this sight, yet doubly apprehen- 
sive of his discoveries in future. The cries of the 
savages grew more distinct as he proceeded, and his 
caution was necessarily redoubled. They now stood 
between him and the white settlements, and the proba- 
bility of coming upon his enemies was increased at 
every step in his progress. Apart from this, he knew 
but little of their precise position — now they were on 
one, and now on the other side of him — their whoops 
sounding with the multiplied echoes of the wood in 
every direction, and inspiring a hesitating dread, at 
every moment, that he should find himself suddenly 
among them. The anxiety thus stimulated was more 
decidedly painful than would have been the hand-to- 
hand encounter. It was so to the fearless heart of 
Harrison. Still, however, he kept his way, until, 
at length, emerging from the brush and foliage, a 
small lake lay before him, which he knew to be 
not more than three miles from the dwelling of 
Bess Matthews. He immediately prepared to take 
the path he had usually taken, to the left, which 
carried him upon the banks of the river. At that 
moment his eye caught the motion of a small body 
of the savages in that very quarter. One third of 
the whole circuit of the lake lay between them and 
himself, and he now changed his course to the right, 


in the hope to avoid them. But they had been no 
less watchful than himself. They had seen, and pre- 
pared to intercept him. They divided for this pur- 
pose, and while with shouts and fierce halloos one 
party retraced their steps and came directly after him, 
another, in perfect silence, advanced on their course 
to the opposite quarter of the lake, in the hope to waylay 
him in front. Of this arrangement Harrison was per- 
fectly unaware, and upon this he did not calculate. 
Having the start considerably of those who came 
behind, he did not feel so deeply the risk of his situ- 
ation; but, fearless and swift of foot, he cheerily went 
forward, hoping to fall in with some of the whites, or 
at least to shelter himself in a close cover of the woods 
before they could possibly come up with him. Through 
brake and bush, heath and water, he went forward, 
now running, now walking, as the cries behind him of 
his pursuers influenced his feelings. At length the 
circuit of the lake was made, and he dashed again into 
the deeper forest, more secure, as he was less obvious 
to the sight than when in the glare of the now high as- 
cending moon. The woods thickened into copse around 
him, and he began to feel something more of hope. 
He could hear more distinctly the cries of war, and he 
now fancied that many of the shouts that met his ears 
were those of the English. In this thought he plunged 
forward, and as one fierce halloo went up which he 
clearly felt to be from his friends, he could not avoid 
the impulse which prompted him to shout forth in 
response. At that moment, bounding over a fallen tree, 
he felt his course arrested. His feet were caught by 
one who crouched beside it, and he came heavily to 
the ground. The Indian who had lain in ambush was 
soon above him, and he had but time to ward with one 
arm a blow aimed at his head, when another savage 
advanced upon him. These two formed the detach 
ment which had been sent forward in front, for this very 
purpose, by the party in his rear. The prospect was 
desperate, and feeling it so, the efforts of Harrison 
were Herculean. His only weapon was the knife of 


Matiwan, but he was a man of great muscular power 
and exceedingly active. His faculties availed him 
now. With a sudden evolution, he shook one of his 
assailants from his breast, and opposed himself to the 
other while recovering his feet. They drove against 
him with their united force, and one hatchet grazed his 
cheek. The savage who threw it was borne forward 
by the blow, and received the knife of Harrison in his 
side, but not sufficiently deep to disable him. They 
came to it again with renewed and increased ferocity, 
one assailing him from behind, while the other employed 
him in front. He would have gained a tree, but they 
watched and kept him too busily employed to allow of 
his design. A blow from a club for a moment paralyzed 
his arm, and he dropped his knife. Stooping to re- 
cover it they pressed him to the ground, and so distrib- 
uted themselves upon him, that farther effort was 
unavailing. He saw the uplifted hand, and felt that his 
senses swam with delirious thought — his eyes were 
hazy, and he muttered a confused language. At that 
moment — did he dream or not ! — it was the deep bay of 
his own favourite hound that reached his ears. The as- 
sailants heard it too — he felt assured of that, as, half 
starting from their hold upon him, they looked anxiously 
around. Another moment, and he had no farther doubt ; 
the cry of thirst and anger — the mixed moan and roar 
of the well-known and evidently much-aroused animal, 
was closely at hand. One of the Indians sprang 
immediately to his feet — the other was about to strike, 
when, with a last effort, he grasped the uplifted arm 
and snouted " Dugdale !" aloud. Nor did he shout in 
vain. The favourite, with a howl of delight, bounded 
at the well-known voice, and in another instant Har- 
rison felt the long hair and thick body pass directly 
over his face, then a single deep cry rung above him, 
and then he felt the struggle. He now strove, again, 
to take part in the fray, though one arm hung motionless 
beside him. He partially succeeded in freeing himself 
from the mass that had weighed him down ; and look- 
ing up, saw the entire mouth and chin of the Indian 


in the jaws of the ferocious hound. The savage knew 
his deadliest enemy, and his struggle was, not to destroy 
the dog, but, under the sudden panic, to free himself 
from his hold. With this object his hatchet and knife 
had been dropped. His hands were vainly endeav- 
ouring to loosen the huge, steely jaws of his rough 
assailant from his own. The other Indian had fled with 
the first bay of the animal — probably the more willing 
to do so, as the momentary fainting of Harrison had 
led them to suppose him beyond farther opposition. 
But he recovered, and with recovering consciousness 
resuming the firm grasp of his knife which had fallen 
beside him, seconded the efforts of Dugdale by driving 
it into the breast of their remaining enemy, who fell 
dead, with his chin still between the teeth of the hound. 
Staggering as much with the excitement of such a con- 
flict, as with the blow he had received, Harrison with 
difficulty regained his feet. Dugdale held on to his prey, 
and before he would forego his hold, completely cut the 
throat which he had taken in his teeth. A single em- 
brace of his master attested the deep gratitude which 
he felt for the good service of his favourite. But there 
was no time for delay. The division which pursued 
him was at hand. He heard their shout from a neigh- 
bouring copse, and bent his steps forward. They 
were soon apprized of the movement. Joined by the 
fugitive, and having heard his detail, what was their 
surprise to find their own warrior a victim, bloody and 
perfectly dead upon the grass, where they had looked 
to have taken a scalp ! Their rage knew no bounds, 
and they were now doubly earnest in pursuit. Feeble 
from the late struggle, Harrison had not his previous 
vigour — besides, he had run far through the woods, and 
though as hardy as any of the Indians, he was not so well 
calculated to endure a race of this nature. But though 
they gained on him, he knew that he had a faithful ally 
at hand on whom he felt he might safely depend. 
The hound too, trained as was the custom, was formi- 
dable to the fears of the Indians. Like the elephant 
of old, he inspired a degree of terror, among the Ameri- 


can aborigines, which took from them courage and 
conduct, in great degree ; and had there been less ine- 
quality of force, the dog of Harrison alone would have 
been sufficient to have decided his present pursuers to 
choose a more guarded course, if not to a complete 
discontinuance of pursuit. But they heard the shouts 
of their own warriors all around them, and trusting that 
flying from one, he must necessarily fall into the hands 
of some other party, they were stimulated still farther 
in the chase. They had not miscalculated. The wild 
whoop of war — the " Sangarrak-me, Yemassee" rose 
directty in the path before him, and, wearied with flight, 
the fugitive prepared himself for the worst. He leaned 
against a tree in exhaustion, while the dog took his place 
beside him, obediv^t to his master's command, though 
impatient to bound forward. Harrison kept him for a 
more concentrated struggle, and wreathing his hands 
in the thick collar about his neck, he held him back for 
individual assailants. In the meantime his pursuers 
approached, though with caution. His dog was con- 
cealed by the brush, on the skirts of which he had 
studiously placed him. They heard at intervals his 
long, deep bay, and it had an effect upon them not 
unlike that of their own war-whoop upon the whites. 
They paused, as if in council. Just then their party 
in front set up another shout, and the confusion of a 
skirmish was evident to the senses as well of Harrison 
as of his pursuers. This, to him, was a favourable 
sign. It indicated the presence of friends. He heard 
at length one shot, then another, and another, and at 
the same time the huzzas of the Carolinians. They 
inspired him with new courage, and with an impulse 
which is sometimes, and, in desperate cases, may be 
almost always considered wisdom, he plunged forward 
through the brush which separated him from the unseen 
combatants, loudly cheering in the English manner, 
and prompting the hound to set up a succession of cries, 
sufficiently imposing to inspire panic in the savages. 
His movement was the signal to move also on the part 
csf those who pursued him. But a few steps changed 


entirely the scene. He had rushed upon the rear of a 
band of the Yemassees, who, lying behind brush and 
logs, were skirmishing at advantage with the corps of 
foresters which we have seen led on by the younger 
Grayson. A single glance sufficed to put Harrison in 
possession of the true facts of the case, and though 
hazarding every chance of life, he bounded directly 
among and through the ambushed Indians. Never was 
desperation more fortunate in its consequences. Not 
knowing the cause of such a movement, the Yemassees 
conceived themselves beset front and rear. They rose 
screaming from their hiding-places, and yielding on 
each side of the fugitive. With an unhesitating hand 
he struck with his knife one of the chiefs who stood 
in his path. The hound, leaping among them like a 
hungry panther, farther stimulated the panic, and for a 
moment all were paralyzed. The fierce and forward 
advance of that portion of their own allies which had 
been pursuing Harrison, still farther contributed to 
impress them with the idea of an enemy in the rear ; 
and before they could recover so as to arrest his prog- 
ress and discover the true state of things, he had passed 
them, followed by the obedient dog. In another instant, 
almost fainting with fatigue, to the astonishment but 
satisfaction of all, he threw himself with a laugh of 
mingled triumph and exhaustion into the ranks of his 
sturdy band of foresters. Without a pause he com- 
manded their attention. Fully conscious of the confu- 
sion among the ambushers, he ordered an advance, and 
charged resolutely through the brush. The contest 
was now hand to hand, and the foresters took their tree 
when necessary, as well as their enemies. The pres- 
ence of their captain gave them new courage, and the 
desperate manner in which he had charged through 
the party with which they fought, led them to despise 
their foes. This feeling imparted to the Carolinians a 
degree of fearlessness, which, new to them in such 
warfare, was not less new to the Indians. Half fright- 
ened before, they needed but such an attack to deter- 
mine them upon retreat. They faltered, and at length 


fled — a few fought on alone, but wounded and without 
encouragement, they too gave way, sullenly and slowly, 
and at length were brought up with their less resolute 
companions in the cover of a neighbouring and denser 

Harrison did not think it advisable to pursue them. 
Calling off his men, therefore, he led them on the 
route toward the Block House, which he relied upon 
as the chief rallying point of the settlers in that quarter. 
His anxieties, however, at that moment, had in them 
something selfish, and he proceeded hurriedly to the 
house of old Matthews. It was empty — its inmates 
were gone, and the marks of savage devastation were 
all around them. The building had been plundered, 
and a hasty attempt made to burn it by torches, but 
without success, the floors being only slightly scorched. 
He rushed through the apartments in despair, calling 
the family by name. What had been their fate — and 
where was she J The silence of every thing around 
spoke to him too loudly, and with the faintest possible 
hope that they had been sufficiently apprized of the 
approach of the Indians to have taken the shelter of the 
Block House, he proceeded to lead his men to that 
designated point. 


" A sudden trial, and the danger comes, 
Noiseless and nameless." 

Let us go back once more to the Block House, and 
look into the condition of its defenders. We remem- 
ber the breaking of the ladder, the only one in their 
possession, which led to the upper story of the build- 
ing. This accident left them in an ugly predicament, 
since some time must necessarily be taken up in its 


repair, and in the meanwhile, the forces of the gar- 
rison were divided in the different apartments, above 
and below. In the section devoted to the women and 
children, and somewhat endangered, as we have seen, 
from the exposed window and the fallen tree, they 
were its exclusive occupants. The opposite chamber 
held a few of the more sturdy and common sense de- 
fenders, while in the great hall below a miscellaneous 
group of fifteen or twenty — the inferior spirits — were 
assembled. Two or three of these were busied in 
patching up the broken ladder, which was to renew 
the communication between the several parties, thus, 
of necessity, thrown asunder. 

The watchers of the fortress, from their several 
loop-holes, looked forth, east and west, yet saw no 
enemy. All was soft in the picture, all was silent in 
the deep repose of the forest. The night was clear 
and lovely, and the vague and dim beauty with which, 
in the imperfect moonlight, the foliage of the woods 
spread away in distant shadows, or clung and clustered 
together as in groups, shrinking for concealment from 
her glances, touched the spirits even of those rude for- 
esters. With them, its poetry was a matter of feeling 
— with the refined, it is an instrument of art. Hence it 
is, indeed, that the poetry of the early ages speaks in the 
simplest language, while that of civilization, becoming 
only the agent for artificial enjoyment, is ornate in its 
dress, and complex in its form and structure. Far away 
in the distance, like glimpses of a spirit, little sweeps 
of the river, in its crooked windings, flashed upon the 
eye, streaking, with a sweet relief, the sombre foliage 
of the swampy forest through which it stole. A single 
note — the melancholy murmur of the chuck-will's- 
widow — the Carolina whippoorwill, broke fitfully upon 
the silence, to whieh it gave an added solemnity. That 
single note indicated to the keepers of the fortress a 
watchfulness, corresponding with their own, of another 
living creature. Whether it were human or not — 
whether it were the deceptive lure and signal of the 
savage, or, in reality, the complaining cry of the 


solitary and sad bird which it so resembled, was, how- 
ever, matter of nice question with those who listened 
to the strain. 

" They are there — they are there," cried Grayson— 
" I'll swear it. I've heard them quite too often not to 
know their cunning now. Hector was right, after all, 

'" What ! where ?" — asked Nichols. 

" There, in the bush to the left of the blasted oak — 
now, down to the bluff — and now, by the bay on the 
right. They are all round us." 

" By what do you know, Wat?" 

"The whippoorwill — that is their cry — their signal." 

" It is the whippoorwill," said Nichols, — " there is 
but one of them ; you never hear more than one at a 

" It is the Indian," responded Grayson — " for though 
there is but one note, it comes, as you perceive, from 
three different quarters. Now it is at the Chief's Bluff 
— and now — it comes immediately from the old grove 
of scrubby oak. A few shot there would get an 

" Good ! that is just my thought — let us give them 
a broadside, and disperse the scoundrels," cried 

" Not so fast, Nichols — you swallow your enemy 
without asking leave of your teeth. Have you in- 
quired first whether we have powder and shot to throw 
away upon bushes that may be empty ?" now exclaimed 
the blacksmith, joining in the question. 

" A prudent thought, that, Grimstead," said Grayson 
— u we have no ammunition to spare in that way. Bitf 
I have a notion that may prove of profit. Where is the 
captain's straw man — here, Granger, bring out Dug 
dale's trainer." 

The stuffed figure already described was brought 
forward, the window looking in the direction of the 
grove supposed to shelter the savages thrown open, 
and the perfectly indifferent head of the automaton 
thrust incontinently through the opening. The ruse 


was completely successful. The foe could not well 
resist this temptation, and a flight of arrows, penetra. 
ting the figure in every portion of its breast and face, 
attested the presence of the enemy and the truth of his 
aim. A wild and shivering cry rung through the 
forest at the same instant — that cry, well known as the 
fearful war-whoop, the sound of which made the mar* 
row curdle in the bones of the frontier settler, and 
prompted the mother with a nameless terror to hug 
closer to her bosom the form of her unconscious infant. 
It was at once answered from side to side, wherevei 
their several parties had been stationed, and it struck 
terror even into the sheltered garrison which heard it 
— such terror as the traveller feels by night, when the 
shrill rattle of the lurking serpent, with that ubiquity 
of sound which is one of its fearful features, vibrates 
all around him, leaving him at a loss to say in what 
quarter his enemy lies in waiting, and teaching him to 
dread that the very next step which he takes may 
place him within that coil which is death. 

"Ay, there they are, sure enough — fifty of them at 
least, and we shall have them upon us, after this, mon- 
strous quick, in some way or other," was the speech 
of Grayson, while a brief pause in all the party marked 
the deep influence upon them of the summons which 
they had heard. 

" True — and we must be up and doing," said the 
smith ; " we can now give them a shot, Hugh Gray- 
son, for they will dance out from the cover now, think- 
ing they have killed one of us. The savages — they 
have thrown away some of their powder at least." 
As Grimstead spoke, he drew three arrows with no 
small difficulty from the bosom of the figure in which 
they were buried. 

" Better there than in our ribs. But you are right. 
Stand back for a moment, and let me have that loop 
— I shall waste no shot. Ha ! I see — there is one — 
I see his arm and the edge of his hatchet — it rests 
upon his shoulder, I reckon, but that is concealed by 
the brush. He moves — he comes out, and slaps his 


hand against his thigh. The red devil, but he shall 
have it. Get ready, now, each at his loop, for if I hurt 
him they will rush out in a fury." 

The sharp click of the cock followed the words of 
Grayson, who was an able shot, and the next moment 
the full report came burdened with a dozen echoes from 
the crowding woods around. A cry of pain — then a 
shout of fury, and the reiterated whoop followed; and 
as one of their leaders reeled and sunk under the un- 
erring bullet, the band in that station, as had been pre- 
dicted by Grayson, rushed forth to where he stood, 
brandishing their weapons with ineffectual fury, and 
lifting their wounded comrade, as is their general 
custom, to bear him to a place of concealment, and 
preserve him from being scalped, by secret burial, in 
the event of his being dead. They paid for their te- 
merity. Following the direction of their leader, whose 
decision necessarily commanded their obedience, the 
Carolinians took quite as much advantage of the ex- 
posure of their enemies, as the number of the loop- 
holes in that quarter of the building would admit. 
Five muskets told among the group, and a reiterated 
shout of fury indicated the good service which the dis- 
charge had done, and taught the savages a lesson of 
prudence, which, in the present instance, they had 
been too ready to disregard. They sunk back into 
cover, taking care however to remove their hurt com- 
panions, so that, save by the peculiar cry which with 
them marks a loss, the garrison were unable to deter 
mine what had been the success of their discharges 
Having driven them back into the brush, however, with- 
out loss to themselves, the latter were now sanguine 
where, before, their confined and cheerless position 
had taught them a feeling of despondency not calcula- 
ted to improve the comforts of their case. 

The Indians had made their arrangements on the 
other hand with no little precaution. But they had 
been deceived and disappointed. Their scouts, who 
had previously inspected the fortress, had given a very 
different account of the defences and the watchfulness 


of their garrison, to what was actually the fact upon 
their appearance. The scouts, however, had spoken 
truth, and but for the discovery made by Hector, the 
probability is that the Block House would have been 
surprised with little or no difficulty. Accustomed to 
obey Harrison as their only leader, the foresters pres- 
ent never dreamed of preparation for conflict unless 
under his guidance ; and but for the advice of the 
trader's wife, and the confident assumption of com- 
mand on the part of Walter Grayson, a confusion of 
councils, not less than of tongues, would have neutral- 
ized all action, and left them an easy prey, without 
head or direction, to the knives of their insidious 
enemy. Calculating upon surprise and cunning as the 
only means by which they could hope to balance the 
numerous advantages possessed by European war- 
fare over their own, the Indians had relied rather 
more on the suddenness of their onset, and the craft 
peculiar to their education, than on the force of their 
valour. They felt themselves baffled, therefore, in 
their main hope, by the sleepless caution of the gar- 
rison, and now prepared themselves for other means. 
They had made their disposition of force with no little 
judgment. Small bodies, at equal distances, under 
cover, had been stationed all about the fortress. With 
the notes of the whippoorwill they had carried on their 
signals, and indicated the several stages of their prep- 
aration ; while, in addition to this, another band — a 
sort of forlorn hope, consisting of the more desperate, 
who had various motives for signalizing their valour — 
creeping singly, from cover to cover, now reposing in 
the shadow of a log along the ground, now half buried 
in a clustering bush, made their way at length so 
closely under the walls of the log house as to be com- 
pletely concealed from the garrison, which, unless by 
the window, had no mode of looking directly down 
upon them. As the windows were well watched by 
their comrades — having once attained their place of 
concealment — it followed that their position remained 
entirely concealed from those within. They lay in 


waiting for the favourable moment — silent as the grave, 
and sleepless — ready, when the garrison should deter- 
mine upon a sally, to fall upon their rear, and in 
the meanwhile quietly preparing dry fuel in quantity, 
gathered from time to time, and piling it against the 
logs of the fortress, they prepared thus to fire the 
defences that shut them out from their prey. 

There was yet another mode of finding entrance, 
which has been partially glimpsed at already. The 
scouts had done their office diligently in more than the 
required respects. Finding a slender pine twisted by 
a late storm, and scarcely sustained by a fragment of 
its shaft, they applied fire to the rich turpentine oozing 
from the wounded part of the tree, and carefully direct- 
ing its fall, as it yielded to the fire, they lodged its ex- 
tremest branches, as we have already seen, against the 
wall of the Block House and just beneath the window ! — 
the only one looking from that quarter of the fortress. 
Three of the bravest of their warriors were assigned 
for scaling this point and securing their entrance, and 
the attack was forborne by the rest of the band, while 
their present design, upon which they built greatly, was 
in progress. 

Let us then turn to this quarter. We have already 
seen that the dangers of this position were duly estima- 
ted by Grayson, under the suggestion of Granger's 
wife. Unhappily for its defence, the fate of the lad- 
der prevented that due attention to the subject, at first, 
which had been imperatively called for ; and the sub- 
sequent excitement following the discovery of the im- 
mediate proximity of the Indians, had turned the con- 
sideration of the defenders to the opposite end of the 
building, from whence the partial attack of the enemy, 
as described, had come. It is true that the workmen 
were yet busy with the ladder ; but the assault had sus- 
pended their operations, in the impatient curiosity which 
such an event would necessarily induce, even in the 
bosom of fear. 

The wife of Grayson, fully conscious of the danger, 
was alone sleepless in that apartment. The rest of the. 


women, scarcely apprehensive of attack at all, and per- 
fectly ignorant of the present condition of affairs, with 
all that heedlessness which marks the unreflecting 
character, had sunk to the repose, without an effort at 
watchfulness, which previous fatigues had, perhaps, 
made absolutely necessary. She alone sat thoughtful 
and silent, musing over present prospects — perhaps of 
the past — but still unforgetful of the difficulties and 
the dangers before her. With a calm temper she 
awaited the relief which, with the repair of the ladder, 
she looked for from below. In the meantime, hearing 
something of the alarm, together with the distant war- 
whoop, she had looked around her for some means of 
defence, in the event of any attempt being made upon 
the window before the aid promised could reach her. 
But a solitary weapon met her eye, in the long heavy 
hatchet, a clumsy instrument, rather more like the clea- 
ver of the butcher than the light and slender toma- 
hawk so familiar to the Indians. Having secured 
this, with the composure of that courage which had 
been in great part taught her by the necessities of 
fortune, she prepared to do without other assistance, 
and to forego the sentiment of dependance, which is 
perhaps one of the most marked characteristics of her 
sex. Calmly looking round upon the sleeping and 
defenceless crowd about her, she resumed her seat 
upon a low bench in a corner of the apartment, from 
which she had risen to secure the hatchet, and, extin- 
guishing the only light in the room, fixed her eye 
upon the accessible window, while every thought of 
her mind prepared her for the danger which was at 
hand. She had not long been seated when she fancied 
that she heard a slight rustling of the branches of the 
fallen tree just beneath the window. She could not 
doubt her senses, and her heart swelled and throbbed 
with the consciousness of approaching danger. But 
still she was firm — her spirit grew more confirmed 
with the coming trial ; and coolly throwing the slip- 
pers from her feet, grasping firmly her hatchet at the 
same time, she softly arose, and keeping close in the 


shadow of the wall, she made her way to a recess, a 
foot or so from the entrance, to which it was evident 
some one was cautiously approaching along the atten- 
uated body of the yielding pine. In a few moments 
and a shadow darkened the opening. She edged 
more closely to the point, and prepared for the intru- 
der. She now beheld the head of the enemy — a fierce 
and foully painted savage — the war-tuft rising up into a 
ridge, something like a comb, and his face smeared 
with colours in a style the most ferociously grotesque. 
Still she could not strike, for, as he had not penetrated 
the window, and as its entrance was quite too small 
to enable her to strike with any hope of success at 
any distance through it, she felt that it would be folly ; 
and though excited with doubt and determination alike, 
she saw the error of any precipitation. But, the next 
moment, he laid his hand upon the sill of the window, 
the better to raise himself to his level. In that instant 
she struck at the broad arm lying across the wood. 
The blow was given with all her force, and would cer- 
tainly have separated the hand from the arm had it 
taken effect. But the quick eye of the Indian caught 
a glimpse of her movement at the very moment in 
which it was made, and the hand was withdrawn be- 
fore the hatchet descended. The steel sunk deep into 
the soft wood — so deeply that she could not disen- 
gage it. To try at this object would have exposed 
her at once to his weapon, and leaving it where it 
stuck, she sunk back again into shadow. 

What now was she to do ? To stay where she was 
would be of little avail ; but to cry out and to fly, equally 
unproductive of good, besides warning the enemy of 
the defencelessness of their condition, and thus inviting 
a renewal of the attack. The thought came to her with 
the danger, and, without a word, she maintained her po- 
sition, in waiting for the progress of events. As the 
Indian had also sunk from sight, and some moments had 
now elapsed without his reappearance, she determined 
to make another effort for the recovery of the hatchet. 
She grasped it by the handle, and in the next moment 


the hand of the savage was upon her own. He felt thai 
it was that of a woman, and in a brief word and some- 
thing of a chuckle, while he still maintained his hold 
on it, conveyed intelligence of the fact to those below. 
But it was a woman with a man's spirit with whom he 
contended, and her endeavour was successful to dis- 
engage herself. The same success did not attend her 
effort to recover the weapon. In the brief struggle with 
her enemy it had become disengaged from the wood, 
and while both strove to seize it, it slipped from their 
mutual hands, and sliding over the sill, in another in- 
stant was heard rattling through the intervening bushes. 
Descending upon the ground below, it became the 
spoil of those without, whose murmurs of gratulation 
she distinctly heard. But now came the tug of diffi- 
culty. The Indian, striving at the entrance, neces- 
sarily encouraged by the discovery that his opponent 
was not a man, and assured, at the same time, by the 
forbearance, on the part of those within, to strike him 
effectually down from the tree, now resolutely endeav- 
oured to effect his entrance. His head was again fully 
in sight of the anxious woman — then his shoulders, and 
at length, resting his hand upon the sill, he strove to 
elevate himself by its muscular strength, so as to se- 
cure him sufficient purchase for the object at which 
he aimed. What could she do — weaponless, hope- 
less ? The prospect was startling and terrible enougli ; 
but she was a strong-minded woman, and impulse 
served her when reflection would most probably have 
taught her to fly. She had but one resource ; and as 
the Indian gradually thrust one hand forward for the 
hold upon the sill, and raised the other up to the side 
of the window, she grasped the one nighest to her 
own. She grasped it firmly and to advantage, as, hav- 
ing lifted himself on tiptoe for the purpose of ascent, 
he had necessarily lost much of the control which a 
secure hold for his feet must have given him. Her 
grasp sufficiently assisted him forward, to lessen still 
more greatly the security of his feet, while, at the 
same time, though bringing him still farther into the 


apartment, placing him in such a position as to defeat 
much of the muscular exercise which his limbs would 
have possessed in any other situation. Her weapon 
now would have been all-important ; and the strong 
woman mentally deplored the precipitancy with which 
she had acted in the first instance, and which had so 
unhappily deprived her of its use. But self-reproach 
was unavailing now, and she was satisfied if she could 
retain her foe in his present position, by which, keep- 
ing him out, or in and out, as she did, she necessarily 
excluded all other foes from the aperture which he so 
completely filled up. The intruder, though desirous 
enough of entrance before, was rather reluctant to ob- 
tain it now, under existing circumstances. He strove 
desperately to effect a retreat, but had advanced too 
far, however, to be easily successful ; and, in his con- 
fusion and disquiet, he spoke to those below in their 
own language, explaining his difficulty and directing 
their movement to his assistance. A sudden rush along 
the tree indicated to the conscious sense of the woman 
the new danger, in the approach of additional enemies, 
who must not only sustain but push forward the one 
with whom she contended. This warned her at once 
of the necessity of some sudden procedure, if she hoped 
to do any thing for her own and the safety of those 
around her, whom, amid all the contest, she had never 
once alarmed. Putting forth all her strength, there- 
fore, though nothing in comparison with that of him 
whom she opposed, had he been in a condition to 
exert it, she strove to draw him still farther across 
the entrance, so as to exclude, if possible, the approach 
of those coming behind him. She hoped to gain time 
— sufficient time for those preparing the ladder to come 
to her relief; and with this hope, for the first time, she 
called aloud to Grayson and her husband. The Indian, 
in the meanwhile, derived the support for his person as 
well from the grasp of the woman, as from his own 
hold upon the sill of the window. Her effort neces- 
sarily drawing him still farther forward, placed him so 
completely in the way of his allies that they could do 


him little service while things remained in this situa- 
tion ; and, to complete the difficulties of his predica- 
ment, while they busied themselves in several efforts 
at his extrication, the branches of the little tree, rest- 
ing against the dwelling, yielding suddenly to the un- 
usual weight upon it — trembling and sinking away at 
last — cracked beneath the burden, and snapping off 
from their several holds, fell from under them, dragging 
against the building in their progress down, thus break- 
ing their fall, and finally settling heavily upon the 
ground. Down went the three savages who had so 
readily ascended to the assistance of their comrade — 
bruised and very much hurt ; — while he, now without 
any support but that which he derived from the sill, 
and what little his feet could secure from the irregular 
crevices between the logs of which the house had been 
built, was hung in air, unable to advance except at the 
will of his woman opponent, and dreading a far worse 
fall from his eminence than that which had already 
happened to his allies. Desperate with his situation, 
he thrust his arm, as it was still held by the woman, 
still farther into the window, and thus enabled her with 
both hands to secure and strengthen the grasp which 
she had originally taken upon it. This she did with 
a new courage, and strength derived from the voices 
below, by which she understood a promise of assist- 
ance. Excited and nerved, she drew the extended 
arm of ihe Indian, in spite of all his struggles, directly 
ovei the sill, so as to turn the elbow completely down 
upon it. With her whole weight employed, bending 
down to the floor to strengthen herself to the task, 
she pressed the arm across the window until her ears 
heard the distinct, clear, crack of the bone — until she 
heard the groan, and felt the awful struggles of the suf- 
fering wretch, twisting himself round with all his effort 
to obtain for it a natural and relaxed position, and, with 
this object, leaving his hold upon every thing, only sus- 
tained, indeed, by the grasp of his enemy. But the 
movement of the woman had been quite too sudden, her 
nerves too firm, and her strength too great to suffer him 


to succeed. The jagged splinters of the broken limb 
were thrust up, lacerating and tearing through flesh and 
skin, while a howl of the acutest agony attested the se- 
verity of that suffering which could extort such an ac- 
knowledgment from the American savage. He fainted 
in his pain, and as the weight increased upon her 
arm, the nature of her sex began to resume its sway. 
With a shudder of every fibre, she released her hold, 
upon him. The effort of her soul was over — a strange 
sickness came upon her, and she was just conscious of 
a crashing fall of the heavy body among the branches 
at the foot of the Avindow, when she staggered back, 
fainting, into the arms of her husband, who, just at that 
moment, ascended to her relief. 


"He shouts, he strikes, he falls — his fields are o'er ; 
He dies in triumph, and he asks no more." 

These slight defeats were sufficiently annoying in 
themselves to the invaders — they were more so as 
they proved not only the inadequacy of their present 
mode of assault, but the watchfulness of the belea- 
guered garrison. Their hope had been to take the 
borderers by surprise. Failing to succeed in this, they 
were now thrown all aback. Their fury was conse- 
quently more than ever exaggerated by their losses, 
and rushing forward in their desperation, through, and 
in defiance of, the fire from the Carolinians, the greater 
number placed themselves beneath the line of pickets 
with so much celerity as to baffle, in most respects, the 
aim of the defenders. A few remained to bear away 
the wounded and slain to a place of safe shelter in 
the thick woods, while the rest lay, either in quiet 
under the walls of the Block House, secure there from 
the fire of the garrison, or amused themselves in una- 


vailing cries of sarcasm to those within, while impo- 
tently expending blows upon the insensible logs be- 
tween them. The elder Grayson, who directed solely 
the movements of the beleaguered, was not unwilling 
that the assailants should amuse themselves after this 
fashion, as the delay of the Indians was to them the 
gain of time, which was all they could expect at such 
a period, and perhaps in a predatory warfare like the 
present, all they could desire. 

But Ishiagaska with his force now came upon the 
scene, and somewhat changed the aspect of affairs. 
He took the entire command, reinvigorated their efforts, 
and considerably altered the mode and direction of 
attack. He was a subtle partisan, and the conse- 
quences of his appearance were soon perceptible in the 
development of events. The force immediately be- 
neath the walls, and secure from the shot of the garri- 
son, were reinforced, and in so cautious a manner, 
that the Carolinians were entirely ignorant of their 
increased strength in that quarter. Creeping, as they 
did, from bush to bush: — now lying prone and silent 
to the ground, in utter immobility — now rushing, as 
circumstances prompted, with all rapidity — they put 
themselves into cover, crossing the intervening space 
without the loss of a man. Having thus gathered in 
force beneath the walls of the fortress, the greater 
number, while the rest watched, proceeded to gather 
up in piles, as they had begun to do before, immense 
quantities of the dry pine trash and the gummy turpen- 
tine wood which the neighbourhood readily afforded. 
This they clustered in thick masses around the more 
accessible points of the pickets ; and the first inti- 
mation which the garrison had of their proceeding 
was a sudden gust of flame, blazing first about the gate 
of the area, on one side of the Block House, then rush- 
ing from point to point with amazing rapidity, sweep- 
ing and curling widely around the building itself. 
The gate, and the pickets all about it, studiously 
made as they had been of the rich pine, for its great 
durability, was as ready an ally of the destructive ele- 


ment as the Indians could have chosen ; and, licked 
greedily by the fire, were soon ignited. Blazing im- 
petuously, it soon aroused the indwellers to a more 
acute consciousness of the danger now at hand. A 
fierce shout of their assailants, as they beheld the rapid 
progress of the experiment, warned them to greater ex- 
ertion if they hoped to escape the dreadful fate which 
threatened to ingulf them. To remain where they 
were, was to be consumed in the flames ; to rush forth, 
was to encounter the tomahawks of an enemy four 
times their number. 

It was a moment of gloomy necessity, that which 
assembled the chief defenders of the fortress to a sort 
of war-council. They could only deliberate — to fight 
was out of the question. Their enemy now was one 
to whom they could oppose 

■ Nor subtle wile, 

Nor arbitration strong." 

The Indians showed no front for assault or aim, 
while the flames, rushing from point to point, and seiz- 
ing upon numerous places at once, continued to ad- 
vance with a degree of celerity which left it impossi- 
ble, in the dry condition of its timber, that the Block 
House could possibly, for any length of time, escape. 
Upon the building itself the savages could not fix the 
fire at first. But two ends of it were directly accessi- 
ble to them, and these were without any entrance, had 
been pierced with holes for musketry, and were well 
watched by the vigilant eyes within. The two sides 
were enclosed by the line of pickets, and had no need 
of other guardianship. The condition of affairs was 
deplorable. The women wept and prayed, the chil- 
dren screamed, and the men, gathering generally in 
the long apartment of the lower story, with heavy 
hearts and solemn faces, proceeded to ask counsel of 
jach other in the last resort. Some lay around on the 
loose plank — here and there along the floor a bearskin 
formed the place of rest for a huge and sullen warrior, 
vexed with the possession of strength which he was 



not permitted to employ. A few watched at the mus- 
ket holes, and others busied themselves in adjusting 
all things for the final necessity, so far as their thoughts 
or fancies could possibly divine its shape. 

The principal men of the garrison were gathered in 
the centre of the hall, sitting with downcast heads and 
fronting one another, along two of the uncovered sleep- 
ers ; their muskets resting idly between their legs, 
their attitudes and general expression of abandon sig- 
nifying clearly the due increase of apprehension in 
their minds with the progress of the flames. Broad 
flashes of light from the surrounding conflagration 
illuminated, but could not enliven, the sombre character 
of that grouping. A general pause ensued after their 
assemblage — none seeming willing or able to offer 
counsel, and Grayson himself, the brave forester in 
command, evidently at fault, in the farther business be- 
fore them. Nichols was the only man to break the 
silence, which he did in his usual manner. 

"And why, my friends, are we here assembled V* 
was his sagacious inquiry, looking round as he spoke 
upon his inattentive coadjutors. A forced smile on 
the faces of several, but not a word, attested their 
several estimates of the speaker. He proceeded. 

"That is the question, my friends — why are we 
here assembled ? I answer, for the good of the people. 
We are here to protect them if we can, and to perish 
for and with them if we must. I cannot forget my 
duties to my country, and to those in whose behalf I 
stand before the hatchet of the Indian, and the cannon 
of the Spaniard. These teach me, and I would teach 
it to you, my friends — to fight, to hold out to the last. 
We may not think of surrender, my friends, until other 
hope is gone. Whatever be the peril, till that mo- 
ment be it mine to encounter it — whatever be the priva* 
tion, till that moment I am the man to endure it. Be 
it for me, at least, though I stand alone in this particu- 
lar, to do for the people whatever wisdom or valour 
may do until the moment comes which shall call on 
us for surrender. The question now, my friends, is 


simply this— has that moment come or not? I pause 
for a reply." t 

"Who talks of surrender?" growled the smith as 
he cast a glance of ferocity to the speaker. '< Who 
talks of surrender at all, to these cursed bloodhounds • 
the red-skins that hunt for nothing but our blood. We 
cannot surrender if we would— we must fight, die, do 
any thing but surrender !" 

« So say I— I am ready to fight and die for my 
country I say it now, as I have said it a hundred 
times before, but—" The speech which Nichols had 
thus begun, the smith again interrupted with a greater 
bull-dog expression than ever. 

"Ay, so you have, and so will say a hundred times 
more— with as little sense in it one time as another 
We are all here to die, if there's any need for it; but 
that isn t the trouble. It's how we are to die— that's 
the question. Are we to stay here and be burnt to 
death like timber-rats— to sally out and be shot, or to 
volunteer, as I do now, axe in hand, to go out and cut 
down the pickets that immediately join the . house 1 
Uy that we may put a stop to the fire, and then we 
shall have a clear dig at the savages that lie behind 
them. I m for that. If anybody's willing to go along 
with me let him up hands-no talk— we have too 
much of that already." 

"I'm ready— here!" cried Grayson, and his hands 
were thrust up at the instant. 

"No, Wat," cried the smith-" not you— you must 
stay and manage here. Your head's the coolest, and 
though I d sooner have your arm alongside of me in the 
rough time than any other two that I know of, 'twon't do 
to take you from the rest on this risk. Who else is 
ready?— let him come to the scratch, and no long talk 
about it What do you say, Nichols? that's chance 
enough for you, if you really want to die for the peo- 
ple. And as Gnmstead spoke, he thrust his head 
orward while his eyes peered into the very bosom of 
the little doctor, and his axe descended to the joist 


over which he stood with a thundering emphasis that 
rung through the apartment. 

" I can't use the axe," cried Nichols, hurriedly. 
" It's not my instrument. Sword or pistol for me. In 
their exercise I give way to no man, and in their use 
I ask for no leader. But I am neither woodman nor 

" And this is your way of dying for the good of the 
people !" said the smith, contemptuously. 

" I am willing even now — I say it again, as I have 
before said, and as now I solemnly repeat it. But I 
must die for them after my own fashion, and under 
proper circumstances. With sword in hand, crossing 
the perilous breach — with weapon befitting the use of 
a noble gentleman, I am ready ; but I know not any 
rule in patriotism that would require of me to perish 
for my country with the broad-axe of a wood-chopper, 
the cleaver of a butcher, or the sledge of a blacksmith 
in my hands." 

" Well, I'm no soldier," retorted the smith ; " but I 
think a man, to be really willing to die for his country, 
shouldn't be too nice as to which way he does it. 
Now the sword and the pistol are of monstrous little use 
here. The muskets from these holes above and below 
will keep off the Indians, while a few of us cut down 
the stakes ; so, now, men, as time grows short, Gray- 
son, you let the boys keep a sharp look-out with the 
ticklers, and I'll for the timber, let him follow who will. 
There are boys enough, I take it, to go with Dick 
Grimstead, though they may none of them be very 
anxious to die for their country." 

Thus saying, and having received the sanction of 
Grayson to this, the only project from which any thing 
could be expected, the blacksmith pushed forward, 
throwing open the door leading to the area which the 
fire in great part now beleaguered — while Grayson 
made arrangements to command the ground with his 
musketry, and to keep the entrance, thus opened for 
Grimstead and his party, with his choicest men. The 
blacksmith was one of those blunt, burly fellows, who 


take with the populace. It was not difficult for him 
to procure three men where twenty were ready. They 
had listened with much sympathy to the discussion 
narrated, and as the pomposity and assumption of 
Nichols had made him an object of vulgar ridicule, a 
- desire to rebuke him, not less than a willingness to go 
with the smith, contributed readily to persuade them 
to the adventure. In a few moments the door was 
unbarred, and the party sallied forth through the en- 
trance, which was kept ajar for their ingress, and well 
watched by half a dozen of the stoutest men in the 
garrison, Grayson at their head. Nichols went above 
to direct the musket-men, while his mind busied itself 
in conning over the form of a capitulation, which he 
thought it not improbable he should have to frame with 
the chiefs of the besieging army. In this labour he 
had but one cause of vexation, which arose from the 
necessity he would be under, in enumerating the pris- 
oners, of putting himself after Grayson, the commander. 
In the meanwhile, with sleeves rolled up, jacket 
off, and face that seemed not often to have been 
entirely free from the begriming blackness of his pro- 
fession, Grimstead commenced his tremendous blows 
upon the contiguous pickets, followed with like zeal, 
if not equal power, by the three men who had volun- 
teered along with him. Down went the first post 
beneath his arm, and as, with resolute spirit, he was 
about to assail another, a huge Santee warrior stood in 
the gap which he had made, and with a powerful blow - 
from the mace which he carried, had our blacksmith 
been less observant, would have soon finished his 
career. But Grimstead was a man of agility as well 
as strength and spirit, and leaping aside from the 
stroke, as his eye rose to the corresponding glance 
from that of his enemy, he gave due warning to his 
axe-men, who forbore their strokes under his com- 
mand. The aperture was yet too small for any com- 
bat of the parties ; and, ignorant of the force against 
him, surprised also at their appearance, he despatched 
one of his men to Grayson, and gave directions, 


which, had they been complied with, had certainly 
given them the advantage. 

"Now, boys, you shall have fun — I have sent for 
some hand-to-hand men to do the fighting, while we do 
the chopping, — and Nichols, who loves dying so much, 
can't help coming along with them. He's the boy for 
sword and pistol — he's no woodcutter. Well, many a 
better chap than he's had to chop wood for an honest 
living. But we'll see now what he is good for. Let 
him come." 

" Oh, he's all flash in the pan, Grimstead. His 
tongue is mustard-seed enough, but it 'taint the shot. 
But what's that— ?" 

The speaker, who was one of Grimstead's comrades, 
might well ask, for first a crackling, then a whirling 
crash, announced the fall at length of the huge gate to 
the entrance of the court. A volume of flame and 
cinders, rising with the gust which it created, rushed 
up, obscuring for a moment and blinding all things 
around it ; but, as it subsided, the Indians lying in wait 
on the outside, and whom no smoke could blind, leaped 
with uplifted tomahawks through the blazing ruins, and 
pushed forward to the half-opened entrance of the 
Block House. The brave blacksmith, admirably sup- 
ported, threw himself in the way, and was singled out 
by the huge warrior who had struck at him through 
the picket. The savage was brave and strong, but he 
had his match in the smith, whose courage was indom- 
itable and lively, while his strength was surpassed 
by that of few. Wielding his axe with a degree of 
ease that, of itself, warned the enemy what he had to 
expect, it was but a moment before the Indian gave 
way before him. But the smith was not disposed to 
allow a mere acknowledgment of his superiority to 
pass for a victory. He pressed him back upon his 
comrades, while his own three aids, strong and gallant 
themselves, following his example, drove the intruders 
upon the blaze which flamed voluminously around them. 
Already a severe wound, which almost severed the 
arm of the Santee warrior from its trunk, had confirmed 


the advantage gained by the whites, while severe 
hatchet wounds had diminished not a little the courage 
of his Indian fellows, when, of a sudden, a new party 
came upon the scene of combat, changing entirely its 
face and character, and diminishing still more the 
chances of the Carolinians. This was Chorley, the 
captain of the pirate. Having lodged his captives, as 
we have seen, in a little hovel on the river's brink, 
under a small guard of his own seamen, he had pro- 
ceeded with all due speed upon the steps of Ishiagaska. 
He arrived opportunely for the band which had been 
placed along the walls of the Block House, in ambush, 
and whose daring had at length carried them into the 
outer defences of the fortress. A single shot from one 
of his men immediately warned the smith and his 
brave comrades of the new enemy before them, 
and while stimulating afresh the courage of their 
savage assailants, it materially diminished their own. 
They gave back — the three survivers — one of the 
party having fallen in the first discharge. The Indians 
rushed upon them, and thus throwing themselves be- 
tween, for a time defeated the aim of Chorley's mus- 
keteers. Fighting like a lion, as he retreated to the 
door of the Block House, the brave smith continued 
to keep unharmed, making at the same time some 
little employment in the shape of ugly wounds to 
dress, in the persons of his rash assailants. Once 
mote they gave back before him, and again the mus- 
ketry of Chorley was enabled to tell upon him. A 
discharge from the Block House in the meantime re- 
torted with good effect the attack of the sailors, and 
taught a lesson of caution to Chorley, of which he soon 
availed himself. Three of his men bit the dust in that 
single fire ; and the Indians, suffering more severely, 
fled at the discharge. The brave smith reached the 
door with a single unwounded follower, himself unhurt. 
His comrades threw open the entrance for his recep- 
tion, but an instant too late. A parting shot from the 
muskets of the seamen was made with a fatal effect. 
Grimstead sunk down upon the threshold as the bullet 


passed through his body — the axe fell from his hand — 
he grasped at it convulsively, and lay extended in part 
upon the sill of the door, when Grayson drew him in 
safety within, and again securely closed it. 

" You are not hurt, Dick, my old fellow," exclaimed 
Grayson, his voice trembling with the apprehensions 
which he felt. 

" Hurt enough, Wat — bad enough. No more grist 
ground at that mill. But, hold in — don't be frightened 
— you can lick 'em yet. Ah," he groaned, in a mortal 

They composed his limbs, and pouring some spirits 
down his throat, he recovered in a few moments, and 
convulsively inquired for his axe. 

" I wouldn't lose it — it was dad's own axe, and must 
go to brother Tom when I die." 

" Die indeed, Dick — don't think of such a thing," 
said Grayson. 

" I don't, Wat — I leave that to Nichols — but get 
the axe — ah ! God — it's here — here — where's Tom V 

His brothei% a youth of sixteen, came down to him 
from the upper apartment where he had been stationed, 
and kneeling over him, tried to support his head — but 
the blood gushed in a torrent from his mouth. He 
strove to speak, but choked in the effort. A single 
convulsion, which turned him upon his face, and the 
struggle was all over. The battles of the smith were 


'' A last blow for his country, and he dies, 
Surviving not the ruin he must see." 

The force brought up by the younger Grayson, and 
now led by Harrison, came opportunely to the relief 
of the garrison. The flames had continued to rage, 


unrestrained, so rapidly around the building, that its 
walls were at length greedily seized upon by the furious 
element, and the dense smoke, gathering through all its 
apartments, alone was sufficient to compel the retreat 
of its defenders. Nothing now was left them in their 
desperation but to sally forth even upon the knives and 
hatchets of their merciless and expecting foe ; and for 
this last adventure, so full of danger, so utterly wanting 
in a fair promise of any successful result, the sturdy 
foresters prepared. Fortunately for this movement, it 
was just about this period that the approach of Harri- 
son, with his party, compelled the besiegers to change 
their position, in order the better to contend with him ; 
and, however reluctant to suffer the escape of those so 
completely in their power, and for whose destruction 
they had already made so many sacrifices of time and 
life, they were compelled to do so in the reasonable 
fear of an assault upon two sides — from the garrison 
before them, impelled by desperation, and from the foe 
in their rear, described by their scouts as in rapid ad- 
vance to the relief of the Block House. The command 
was shared jointly between Chorley and Ishiagaska. 
The former had fared much worse than his tawny 
allies ; for, not so well skilled in the artifices of land 
and Indian warfare, seven out of the twenty warriors 
whom he commanded had fallen victims in the prece- 
ding conflicts. His discretion had become somewhat 
more valuable, therefore, when reminded by the scanty 
force remaining under his command, not only of his 
loss, but of his present weakness ; a matter of no little 
concern, as he well knew that his Indian allies, in their 
capricious desperation, might not be willing to discrim- 
inate between the whites who had befriended, and those 
who had been their foes. 

Thus, counselled by necessity, the assailing chiefs 
drew off" their forces from the Block House, and sinking 
into cover, prepared to encounter their new enemies, 
after the fashion of their warfare. Ignorant in the 
meantime of the approach of Harrison or the force 
under him, Grayson wondered much at this movement 


of the besiegers, of which he soon had intelligence, 
and instantly prepared to avail himself of the privilege 
which it gave to the garrison of flight. He called his 
little force together, and having arranged, before leaving 
its shelter, the progress and general movement of his 
party, he carefully placed the women and children in 
the centre of his little troop, sallied boldly forth into 
the woods, conscious of all the dangers of the movement, 
but strengthened with all those thoughts of lofty cheer 
with which the good Providence, at all times, inspires 
the spirit of adventure, in the hour of its trying circum- 
stance. There was something of pleasure in their 
very release from the confined circuit of the Block 
House, though now more immediately exposed to the 
tomahawk of the Indian ; and with the pure air, and 
the absence of restraint, the greater number of the 
foresters grew even cheerful and glad — a change of 
mood in which even the women largely partook. Some 
few indeed, of the more Puritanical among them, dis- 
posed to think themselves the especial charge of the 
Deity, and holding him not less willing than strong to 
save, under any circumstances, even went so far as to 
break out into a hymn of exultation and rejoicing, 
entirely forgetting the dangers still hanging around 
them, and absolutely contending warmly with Grayson 
when he undertook to restrain them. Not the least 
refractory of these was his own mother, who, in spite 
of all he could say, mouthed and muttered continually, 
and every now and then burst forth into starts of irre- 
pressible psalmody, sufficient to set the entire tribe of 
Indians unerringly upon their track. The remonstrance 
of Grayson had little effect, except when he reminded 
her of his younger brother. The idolized Hugh, and 
his will, were her law in most things. Appealing to 
his authority, and threatening complaint to him, he 
succeeded in making her silent, at least to a certain 
extent. Entire silence was scarcely possible with 
the old dame, who likened her escape from the flaming 
Block House, and, so far, from the hands of the savage, 
to every instance of Providential deliverance she had 


ever read of in the sacred volume ; and still, under the 
stimulus of such a feeling, broke out every now and 
then, with sonorous emphasis, into song, from an old 
collection of the period, every atom of which she had 
familiarly at the end of her tongue. A moment had 
not well elapsed after the first suggestion of Grayson, 
when, as if unconsciously, she commenced again : 

" ' The Lord hath fought the foe for us, 
And smote the heathen down.' "■ 

" Now, mother, in the name of common sense, can't 
you be quiet ?" 

" And wherefore should we not send up the hymn of 
rejoicing and thanksgiving for all his mercies, to the 
b ather who has stood beside us in the hour of peril » 
Wherefore, I ask of you, Walter Grayson ? Oh my 
son, beware of self-conceit and pride of heart; 'and 
because you have here commanded earthly and human 
weapons, think not, in the vanity of your spirit, that the 
victory comes from such as these. The Saviour of men, 
my son— it is he that has fought this fight. It is his 
sword that has smitten the savage hip and thigh, and 
brought us free out of the land of bondage, even ashe 
brought his people of old from the bondage of the 
Egyptians. He is mighty to save, and therefore should 
we rejoice with an exceeding strong voice." And as 
if determined to sustain amply the propriety she insisted 
on, her lungs were never more tasked than when she 
sung : — 

" ' The Lord he comes with mighty power, 
The army of the saints is there- 
He speaks — ' " 

" For Heaven's sake, mother — hush your tongue if 

it be in you to keep it quiet for a moment. Let it rest 
only for a little while, or we shall all be scalped. 
Wait till daylight, and you may then sing to your heat's 
content. It can't be long till daylight, and you c *n 
then begin, but not till then, or we shall have the sa\ - 
ages on our track, and nothing can save us." 

Vol. II. 


" Oh ! thou of little faith— I tell thee, Walter, thou 
hast read but too little of thy Bible, and dependest too 
much upon the powers of earth — all of which are 
wicked and vain defences. Put thy trust in God ; he 
is strong to save. Under his hand I fear not the sav- 
age — for, does he not tell us — " and she quavered 
again : — 

" ' Unfold thine eye and see me here, 
I do the battle for the just, 
My people nothing have to fear — ' " 

" Mother, in the name of common sense." But she 
went on with double fervour, as if vexed with the in- 
terruption : — 

" ' If faithful in my word — ' " 

" Mother, mother, I say — " But she was bent seem- 
ingly to finish the line : — 

" ' they trust.' " 

" Was there ever such an obstinate ! I say, moth- 

"Well, my son?" 

" Are you my mother ?" 

" Of a certainty, I am. What mean you by that 
question, Walter?" 

" Do you want to see my scalp dangling upon the 
long pole of a savage ?" 

" God forbid, Walter, my son. Did I not bear thee 
— did I not suffer for thee ?" 

" Then, if thou dost not really desire to see me 
scalped, put some stop on thy tongue, and move along 
as if death lay under every footstep. If the savages 
surround us now, we are gone, every mother's son 
of us — and all the saints, unless they are accustomed 
to Irdian warfare, can do nothing in our behalf." 

" Speak not irreverently, son Walter. The saints 
are blessed mediators for the sinner, and may move 
et ,-rnal mercy to save. Have they not fought for us 


already to-night — and are we not saved by their min- 
istry from the bloody hands of the savage V 

"No — it's by our own hands, and our own good 
handiwork, mother. I owe the saints no thanks, and 
shall owe you still less, unless you stop that howling." 

" Oh, Father, forgive him, he knows not what he 
says — he is yet in the bondage of sin — " and she 
hymned her prayer from her collection : — 

" ' Strike not the sinner in his youth, 
But bear him in thy mercy on, 
Till in the path of sacred truth, 
He sees — ' " 

" Mother, if thou hush not, I will tell Hugh of thy 
obstinacy. He shall know how little thou mindest his 

" Well, well, Walter, my son, I am done. Thou art 
too hasty, I'm sure. — Oh, bless me — " 

Her speech was cut short by a sudden and fierce 
whoop of the Indians, followed by the huzzas of the 
whites at a greater distance, and the rapid fire of mus- 
ketry, scattered widely along the whole extended range 
of forest around them. 

" Down, down, all hands to your knees — one and 
all — " was the cry of Grayson to his party ; and, ac- 
customed to most of the leading difficulties and dangers 
of such a fight, the order was obeyed as if instinct- 
ively by all except Dame Grayson, who inflexibly 
maintained her position, and refused to move, alleging 
her objection to any prostration except for the purposes 
of prayer. Maddened by her obstinacy, Grayson, with 
very little scruple, placing his hand upon her shoulder, 
bore her down to the earth, exclaiming, — 

" Then say your prayers, mother — do any thing but 
thwart what you cannot amend." 

Thus humbled, the party crept along more closely 
into cover, until, at a spot where the trees were clustered 
along with underwood, into something like a copse, he 
ordered a halt, and proceeded to arrange his men and 
their weapons for active conflict. The war approached 


at intervals, and an occasional shot whistled over the 
heads of the party, conclusively proving the necessity 
of their position. The Indians seemed to lie betwixt 
them and the advancing Carolinians ; and perceiving 
this to be the case, Grayson threw the non-combatants 
under shelter in such a manner as to interpose those 
who fought in the way of the coming Indians, in the 
event of their being driven back upon them. His 
party in the meanwhile, well prepared, lay quietly 
under cover, and with their weapons ready to take 
advantage of any such event. 

Harrison, as we may remember, had taken the com- 
mand of the greater body of the force which had been 
brought up through the industrious and prodigious ex- 
ertions of Hugh Grayson. This young man, stung and 
mortified as he had been by the rebuke of Bess Mat- 
thews, with a degree of mental concentration, rather 
indicative of his character — though hopeless of those 
affections, which of all other human hopes he had most 
valued — had determined .to do himself justice by doing 
his duty. Throwing aside, therefore, as well as he 
might, the passionate mood, which was active in his 
soul, he had gone forth from the house of the pastor, 
resolute to make every exertion in procuring a force 
that might protect the family from an attack, which 
he had at length learned, as well as Harrison, greatly 
to anticipate. His pride suggested to him the gratifi- 
cation of saving the life of her who had scorned him, 
as an honourable revenge, not less than a fair blotting 
out of those errors of which, on her account, he had 
suffered himself to be guilty. His efforts, so far, had 
been crowned with success ; but he had come too late 
for his prime object. The dwelling of the pastor had 
been sacked before his arrival, and, like Harrison, he 
was under the most horrible apprehensions for her 
safety. The latter person came upon him opportunely, 
in time to keep him from falling into the ambuscade 
through which he had himself so singularly passed in 
safety — and with more knowledge of Indian strife, 
Harrison took the command of a party, confident in his 


skill, and, of necessity, with a courage heightened pro- 
portionally when under his direction. 

The cautious yet bold management of Harrison soon 
gave him the advantage. The foresters, guided by 
him, each took his tree after the manner of the Indians, 
and with the advantage of weapons more certain to 
kill, and equally, if not more certain, in aim. Apart 
from this, the Carolinian woodman knew enough of the 
savages to know that they were no opponents, gener- 
ally speaking, to be feared in a trial of respective mus- 
cular strength. The life of the hunter fits him to en- 
dure rather than to contend. The white borderer was 
taught by his necessities to do both. He could wield 
the axe and overthrow the tree — a labour to which the 
Indian is averse. He could delve and dig, and such 
employment was a subject of scorn and contempt with 
the haughty aboriginal warrior. At the same time he 
practised the same wanderings and the same felicity 
of aim, and in enduring the toils of the chase, he was 
fairly the equal of his tawny but less enterprising neigh- 
bour. The consciousness of these truths — a conscious- 
ness soon acquired from association — was not less fa- 
miliar to the Indian than to the Carolinian ; and the for- 
mer, in consequence, despaired his charm, when oppo- 
sing the white man hand to hand. His hope was in the 
midnight surprise — in the sudden onslaught — in the 
terror inspired by his fearful whoop — and in the awful 
scalp-song with which he approached, making the 
imagination of his foe an auxiliar to his own, as he 
told him how he should rend away the dripping locks 
from his scull, while his eyes swam in darkness, and 
the pulses were yet flickering at his heart. 

From cover to cover — from tree to tree — the indi- 
vidual Carolinians rushed on against their retreating 
enemies. In this manner the fight became somewhat 
pell-mell, and the opponents grew strangely mingled 
together. Still, as each was busy with his particular 
enemy, no advantage could well be taken of the circum- 
stance on either side ; and the hatchets of the individ- 
ual combatants clashed under neighbouring trees, and 


their knives were uplifted in the death-struggle over 
the same stump, without any hope of assistance from 
their friends in any form of their difficulty. 

In this general state of things, there was one ex- 
ception in the case of Harrison himself. He was ap- 
proached resolutely in the course of the conflict by a 
Coosaw warrior — a man of inferior size, even with his 
tribe, the individuals of which were generally diminu- 
tive. The dark eye of the swarthy foe, as he advanced 
upon Harrison, was lighted up with a malignant auda- 
city, to be understood only by a reference to the his- 
tory of his people. That people were now almost ex- 
terminated. He was one of the few survivers — a chief 
— a bold, brave man — subtle, active, and distinguished 
for his skill as a warrior and hunter. He recognised 
in Harrison the renowned Coosah-moray-te — the leader 
of the force which had uprooted his nation, and had 
driven the warriors to the degrading necessity of mer- 
ging their existence as a people with that of a neigh- 
bouring tribe. The old feeling of his country, and a 
former war, was at work in his bosom, and through all 
the mazes of the conflict he steadily kept his eye on 
the course of Harrison. He alone sought him — he 
alone singled him out for the fight. For a long time, 
the nature of the struggle had prevented their meeting ; 
but he now approached the spot where Harrison stood, 
holding at bay a tall Chestatee warrior from the inte- 
rior of Georgia. The Chestatee was armed with the 
common war-club, and had no other weapon. This 
weapon is chiefly useful when confusion has been 
introduced by the bowmen into the ranks of an enemy. 
It is about two feet in length, and bears at its end, and 
sometimes at both ends, a cross-piece of iron, usually 
without any distinct form, but sometimes resembling 
the blade of a spear, and not unfrequently that of a 
hatchet. Harrison was armed with a sword, and had 
besides, in his possession, the knife — the same broad, 
cimeter-like weapon — which had been given him by 
Matiwan in his flight from Pocota-ligo. His rifle, which 
he had not had time to reload, leaned against a tree, at 


the foot of which stood Hector, with difficulty restrain- 
ing, and keeping back, with all his might, the impatient 
dog Dugdale, which, by his master's orders, he had re- 
muzzled. This had been done in order to his safety. 
It was only in pursuit that his services would have 
been of avail ; for though he might be of use in the 
moment of strife, the chances were that he would have 
been shot. Thus reposing, Hector was enabled to see 
die approach of the Coosaw, and by an occasional exhi- 
bition of his own person and that of the dog, to deter him 
from the attack which he had long meditated. But the 
strife between Harrison and the Chestatee was about 
to cease. That warrior, aiming a fierce blow at the 
person of. his enemy, drove the spear-head of his club 
into the tree, and failing at the moment to disengage 
it, fell a victim to the quicksightedness of his oppo- 
nent. Harrison's sword in that instant was sheathed in 
the bosom of the Chestatee, who, as he received the 
wound, sprung upward from the ground, snapping the 
slender weapon short at the hilt, the blade still remain- 
ing buried in his body. Harrison drew his knife, 
and having for some time seen the purpose of the 
Coosaw, he fortunately turned to meet him at the very 
instant of his approach. Somewhat surprised at the 
fearlessness with which his enemy advanced to the 
conflict, he spoke to him as they both paused at a few 
paces from each other. 

" Thou art a Coosaw," — exclaimed Harrison, — " I 
know thee." 

" Chinnabar is the last chief of the Coosaw. He 
wants blood for his people." 

" Thou knowest me, then ?" said Harrison. 

" Coosah-moray-te /" was the simple response ; and 
the dark eye glared, and the teeth of the savage gnashed 
like those of the hungered wolf, as the name stirred 
up all the, associations in his mind of that war of ex- 
termination which the warrior before him had waged 
against his people. 

"Ay — the Coosah-moray-te is before thee. — Would 
Chinnabar follow his people ?" exclaimed the English- 



" Chinnabar would have much blood for his people. 
He would drink blood from the scull of Coosah-moray- 
te — he would show the scalp of the Coosah-moray-te to 
the warriors of Coosaw, that wait for him in the Happy 

" Thou shalt have no scalp of mine, friend Chinna- 
bar. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I must — I can't 
spare it. Come ! I know you of old for a cunning 
snake— a snake lying in the dried bush. The foot of 
the Coosah-moray-te will trample on thy head." 

Harrison spoke fearlessly, for who, contrasting the 
appearance of the two, would have thought the contest 
doubtful ? The Indian was scarcely over five feet in 
height, slender, and not well set ; while his opponent, 
fully six feet in height, a fine specimen of symmetrical 
manhood, seemed able to crush him with a finger. 
The Coosaw simply responded with something like a 
smile of scorn, — throwing himself at the same moment 
like a ball at the feet of his enemy — 

" Good ! — the snake is in the bush. Look ! Coo- 
sah-moray-te — put the foot on his head." 

The Englishman looked down upon him with some- 
thing like surprise mingled with his contempt, and 
made no show of assault ; but he was too well ac- 
quainted with Indian trick and manoeuvre to be thrown 
off his guard by this movement. Curious to see 
what would be the next effort of one who had studi- 
ously singled him out, he watched him carefully, and 
the Indian, something balked that the enemy had not 
taken him at his word and approached him while 
in his prostrate condition, slowly uncoiled him from 
his cluster, and had partially regained his feet, when 
Harrison, who had been looking for him fully to do 
so, was surprised in the next moment to find his 
wily enemy directly between his legs. The sudden- 
ness of such a movement, though it failed to throw 
him, as the Coosaw had calculated, yet disordered his 
position not a little ; and before he could strike a blow, 
or do more than thrust one of his feet down upon him, 
his active adversary had passed from his reach, having 


made a desperate effort with his knife to hamstring 
his adversary, as he leaped aside and turned suddenly 
upon him. The rapidity of Harrison's movement alone 
saved him, though even then not entirely, since the 
knife grazed his leg, inflicting a sharp, though not 
dangerous wound. He barely turned in time to meet 
the preparation of the Coosaw for a second assault of 
similar character ; and something more ready at this 
novel mode of attack, and vexed at its partial success, 
Harrison looked with some impatience for his enemy's 
approach, and felt a thrill of fierce delight as he saw 
him leave with a bound the spot upon which he stood. 
Sinking upon his knee as the savage rolled towards 
him, he presented his knife, edge upward, to his ad- 
vance. What was his surprise to find that in so stoop- 
ing, he had only evaded a blow upon his bosom, which, 
from his position, and the direction which the Indian 
pursued, had he stood, the heels of his foe would cer- 
tainly have inflicted. He saw from this that he must 
now become the assailant ; particularly as he perceived 
that his men were successfully pressing upon the en- 
emy in every direction, and that the battle was pro- 
gressing towards the river, and between it and the 
Block House. Active as most men, Harrison was also 
a man of ready decision ; and with the thought came 
the execution. With a bound he grappled the Coo- 
saw, who had not looked for an attack so sudden, and 
no doubt had been fatigued by previous efforts. Har- 
rison drove him back against a tree with all the muscle 
of an extended arm, and thus forced the combat upon 
him on his own terms. But even then the subtlety of 
the savage did not fail him. He evaded the grasp, 
and contrived to double once or twice completely under 
the body of his opponent, until, exasperated by his per- 
tinacity not less than at the agility with which the In- 
dian eluded him, without stooping to where he wriggled 
like a snake around him, the Englishman leaped upon 
him with both feet, striking his heel securely down 
upon the narrow of his sinuous back, and in this way 
fastening him to the earth. In another instant and the 


knife would have finished the combat, when the con- 
queror received a severe blow with a club, upon his 
shoulder, from some unseen hand, which completely 
staggered him ; and before he could recover, he was 
confronted by another warrior of the Coosaws, crying 
to him in his own language in the exultation of suc- 
cess deemed secure, and thus cheering his prostrate 
chief, Chinnabar — 

" Coosah-moray-te, — I drink his blood, I tear his 
throat, I have his scalp — I hear his groan — Hi-chai ! — 
. 'tis a dog for Opitchi-Manneyto !" 

At the cry, his former opponent rose from the 
ground, not so much injured but that he could recom- 
mence the battle. They advanced at the same mo- 
ment upon the Englishman, though from different 
quarters. They came upon him with all their subtlety 
and caution, for the two together could scarce have 
contended with the superior strength of Harrison. 
Taking his tree, he prepared for the worst ; and with 
his left arm so severely paralyzed by the blow that he 
could do little more than throw it up in defence, he 
yet held a good heart, and while he saw with what 
malignity the two Coosaws had singled him out, he 
had hope to meet them individually by the exercise of 
some of those adroit arts which he too could employ 
not less than the savage. But he was spared this trial. 
The very instant of their simultaneous approach, a 
gun-shot from the rear brought down the second as- 
sailant. The surviver, Chinnabar, as if exasperated 
beyond reason at the event, now precipitated himself 
forward, tomahawk in hand, upon his foe, was foiled 
by the ready agility which encountered him, put aside, 
and almost in the same instant hurled like a stone to 
the ground by the now fully aroused Englishman. 

" Coosaw — thou art the last chief of thy people. 
The cunning serpent will die by the Coosah-moray- 
te, like the rest," said Harrison, addressing the con- 
quered savage, who lay motionless, but still alive, at 
his feet. 

*' The Coosah-moray-te will strike. Chinnabar is 


the last chief of the Coosaw— his people have gone— 
they wait for him with the cry of a bird. Let the Dale- 
fact; strike. Ah ! ah !" v 

The knife was in his heart. Vainly the eyes rolled 
tn a fruitless anger— the teeth fixed for ever, while 
gnashing in fury, in the death spasm. , A short groan 
—a word, seemingly of song— and the race of the 
i^oosaws was for ever ended. 

t,wfJT? l°f and i°? ked round for the P erson "* ose 

timely shot had saved him from the joint attack of the 

two warriors. He discovered him advancing in the 

person of Hector, who, having fastened Dugdale to a 

sapling had reloaded the musketoon of hi? master! 

and d V his intervention at the proper moment, had no 

doubt preserved his life. Unaccustomed, however, 

to the use of gunpowder, the black had overcharged 

the piece, and the recoil had given him a shock which, 

at the moment, he was certain could not have been 

a jot less severe than that which it inflicted upon the 

Coosaw he had slain. His jaws ached, he bitterly 

S' £ hen ever, years after, he detailed the fight 

with the Yemassee on the banks of the Pocota-ligo. 

Hector— thou hast saved my life," said Harrison 

as he came up to him. 

"I berry glad, mossa," was the natural reply. 

" Where's Dugdale ?" * J 

shootVe^j' h °° k ' 6m Wid "^ When ' ** *» 

" Bring him, and set him loose." 

The black did as he was told, and harking him on 
the track of the flymg Indians, Harrison seized and 
reloaded his rifle, while Hector possessed himself of 
a knife and hatchet which he picked up upon the field 
They then proceeded hastily to overtake the Caroli- 
nians, who, at a little distance, were pressing upon the 
retreating enemy. Harrison came in time to Le his 
influence and energy where they were most needed. 

Blnrk H ng G , W x r f- met b ^ the P art y from the 
Block House, under Ishiagaska and the pimte, and the 
fight commenced anew-a^sort of running fight, how! 



ever, for the Indians grew weary of a contest in which 
they had none of those advantages of number or cir- 
cumstance that usually encourage them to war . 
and so trifling was the force of whites now remaining 
with them under Chorley, that their presence rather 
induced despondency than hope. The pirate himself 
was much discouraged by the nature of the strife, for 
which he did not dream that the Carolinians would 
have been so well prepared ; and the loss which he had 
sustained, so disproportioned to his force, had not a 
little exaggerated his discontent. His disquiet was 
destined to find still farther increase in the new as- 
sault ; two more of his men, not so well sheltered as 
they should have been, or more venturous, having been 
shot down near a tree immediately adjoining that be- 
hind which he stood ; and though the Indians still con- 
tinued to fight, he saw that they could not be encouraged 
to do so long ; as, even if successful in killing, they 
had no opportunity of obtaining the scalps of the slain, 
the best evidence with them of their triumph. The 
Carolinians still pressed on, their numbers greatly in- 
creased by the presence of several slaves, who, vol- 
unteering even against the will of their masters, had 
armed themselves with knives or clubs, and by their 
greater numbers held forth a prospect of ultimately 
hemming in the smaller force of their enemy. This 
was an ally upon which the Spaniards had largely 
calculated. They had no idea of that gentler form of 
treatment which, with the Carolinians, won the affec- 
tions of their seirviles ; and knowing no other princi- 
ple in their own domestic government than that of fear, 
and assured of the instability of any confidence built 
upon such a relationship between the ruler and the 
serf, they had miscalculated greatly when they ad- 
dressed their bribes and promises to the negroes, as 
well as to the Indians of Carolina. But few joined 
them — the greater number, volunteering for their 
owners, were taken actually into the employment of 
the colony, and subsequently rewarded in proportion 
to their services and merits. 


The engagement became a flight. From point to 
point the Carolinians pursued their enemy — Chorley 
the seaman, and Ishiagaska, alone endeavouring, by 
the most ardent effort, to stimulate the courage of 
their followers, and maintain the show of fight. But 
in vaiu. The whites pressed closely upon the heels of 
the fugitives, who were at length suddenly brought up 
by a severe fire directly upon their path from the con- 
cealed party under Grayson. This completed their 
panic ; and each darting in the direction given him by 
his fears, sought for individual safety. There was no 
longer the form of a battle array among them, and the 
negroes cleared the woods with their clubs, beating 
out the brains of those they overtook, almost without 
having any resistance offered them. The day dawned 
upon the forest, and every step of the route taken by 
the combatants was designated by blood. 


** Away, away,— I hold thee as my spoil, 
To bless and cheer me — worthy of my toil — 
Let them pursue — I have thee, thou art mine, 
With life to keep, and but with life resign." 

Day dawned, and the sun rose clearly and beautifully 
over the scattered bands of the forest. The Indians 
were fairly defeated, Ishiagaska slain, and Chorley, 
the pirate, uninfluenced by any of those feelings of 
nationality in the present case, which would have 
prompted him to a desperate risk of his own person in 
a struggle so utterly unlooked-for, as soon as he saw 
the final and complete character of the defeat, silently 
withdrew, with his few remaining followers, from far- 
ther conflict. He had another care upon his hands 
beside that of his own safety. There was one reward — 
one spoil — with which he consoled himself for his dis- 


aster — and that was Bess Matthews. Filled with a 
fierce passion, as he thought of her, he took his way, 
unseen by the victorious Carolinians, toward the little 
cot on the river's edge, in which he had left his pris- 
oners. Circumstances had materially altered from 
what they were at the time when they became so. He 
was no longer able to control, with an imposing and 
superior force, the progress, either of his Indian allies 
or of his Carolinian enemies. He had not foreseen, 
any more than the Yemassees, the state of preparation 
in which the settlers about the Pocota-ligo had met 
the invasion. He had looked to find invasion and con- 
quest one — and had never dreamed of opposition, much 
less of a defence which would prove so completely 
successful. The energies of a single man, his address, 
farsightedness, and circumspection, had done all this. 
To the perseverance and prudence of Harrison — his 
devotedness to the cause he had undertaken, the bor- 
derers Owed their safety. But of this the pirate chief 
knew nothing; and, anticipating no such provident 
management, he had fearlessly leagued himself with 
the savages, stimulated by passions as sanguinary as 
theirs, and without that redeeming sense of national 
character and feeling — that genuine love of country, 
which not only accounted for, but exculpated the people 
of whom he was the unworthy ally. But he had lost all 
that he came for — all objects but one. His best fol- 
lowers had fallen victims — his hope of spoil had in 
great part been defeated, and though he had shed blood, 
the quantity was as nothing to one with whom such 
had been a familiar indulgence. Yet, with a volup- 
tuous appetite, he had won a prize which promised him 
enjoyment, if it could not compensate his lasses. The 
beautiful Bess Matthews — the young, the budding, the 
sweet. She was in his power — a trembling dove in 
the grasp of the fowler. The thought was as so much 
fire to his fancy, and he sought the cottage in which 
he had secured her with a fierce and feverish thirst — 
a brutal sense at work in his mind, stimulating him to 
an utter disregard of humanity, and prompting the com- 


plete violation of all ties of kindred, as he meditated 
to tear her away from the bosom of her parents. 

About a mile from the hovel in which the family of 
the pastor was immured lay the guarda-costa. There 
was an air of bustle on board of her, in the unreefing 
of sails, and the waving and rustling of her ropes. 
I he tide of battle had alternated from spot to spot 
along the banks of the river— now lost in the density 
of the forest, and now finding a full reverberation from 
the bosom of the water. The firing had alarmed all 
parties, the seamen remaining on board, not less than 
the old pastor and his timid wife and trembling daugh- 
ter, who, only conscious of the struggle, and not of its 
results, were filled with a thousand tearful anticipations. 
1 o Bess Matthews, however, the strife brought with 
it a promise, since it proved that the Carolinians were 
prepared, m part at least, for their invaders— and 
many were the fluctuations of hope and fear in her 
soul, as the gathering clamour now approached and 
now receded in the distance. Love taught her that 
Harrison was the leader making such bold head against 
the enemy— love promised her, as the battle dissipated 
that he would come and rescue her from a position in 
which she did not well know whether to regard herself 
as a captive to the seaman, or as one owing him grati- 
tude for her own and the preservation of her family 
She remembered his lustful eye and insolent speech 
and gesture, and she trembled as she thought of it. 
True, her father knew him in his boyhood, but his 
account of him was rather tolerant than favourable • 
and the subsequent life and conduct of the licentious 
rover— not to speak of the suspicions openly enter- 
tained of his true character by her lover, all taught her 
to fear the protection which he had given, and to dread, 
while she seemed to anticipate, the price of it. 

She had no long time for doubt, and but little for 
deliberation. He came— bloody with conflict— covered 
with dust, blackened with gunpowder— the fierce flame 
of war in his eye, and in his hand the bared weapon, 
streaked with fresh stains, only partially covered with 


the sand through which it had been drawn. His man- 
ner was impatient and stem, as, without addressing 
either of his captives, he called aside and gave direc- 
tions to his seamen. The pastor craved his attention, 
but he waved his hand impatiently, nor turned to him 
for an instant, until he had despatched two of his men 
to the edge of the stream, where, well concealed by 
the shrubbery upon its banks, lay the small boat of the 
vessel, which had been carefully placed there by his 
orders. They gave him a shrill whistle as they reached 
it, which he immediately returned — then approaching 
the pastor, he scrupled not an instant in the develop- 
ment of the foul design which he had all along medi- 

" Hark ye, Matthews— this is no place for us now — 
I can't protect ye any longer. I havn't the men — they 
are cut up — slashed— dead — eleven of the finest fel- 
lows — best men of my vessel — by this time, without a 
scalp among them. I have done my best to save you, 
but it's all over, and there's but one way — you must go 
with us on board." 

" How, Chorley — go with you — and wherefore ? I 
cannot — I will not." 

" What, will not? Do you think I'll let you stay to 
lose your scalps, and this sweet darling here ? No, 
by my soul, I were no man to suffer it. You shall go." 

" What mean you, Chorley ? Are the savages suc- 
cessful — have they defeated our men? — And you — 
wherefore do you fly — how have you fought — with us 
— for our people ?" 

The old pastor, half bewildered, urged these ques- 
tions incoherently, but yet with such directness of aim 
as almost to bewilder the person he addressed, who 
could not well answer them. How, as he argued, if 
the Yemassees had defeated the Carolinians — how 
was it that Chorley, who had evidently been their ally, 
could not exert his power and protect them ? and, on 
the other hand, if the Carolinians had been the victors, 
wherefore should they fly from their own people ? 
Unable well to meet these propositions, the native 


fierce impetuosity of the pirate came to his relief, and 
throwing aside entirely the conciliatory manner of his 
first address, he proceeded in a style more congenial 
with his true character. 

"Shall I stay all day, disputing with you about this 
nonsense 1 I tell you, you shall go, whether you will 
or not. Look, I have the power — look at these men — 
can you withstand them ? In a word, they force you 
to the ship, and all your talking — ay, and all your 
struggling, will help you nothing. Come — away." 

"Never — never ! Oh father, let us die first !" was 
the involuntary exclamation of the maiden, convulsively 
clinging to the old man's arm as the ruffian took a 
step toward her. 

" Captain Chorley, I cannot think you mean this 
violence !" said the old man with dignity. 

" May I be d— d," said he fiercely, " but I do ! What, 
old man, shall I leave you here to'be made mincemeat 
of by the Indians ? No, no ! I love you and your pretty 
daughter too well for that. Come, sweetheart, don't 
be shy — ^what ! do you fear me, then '{" 

" Touch me not — touch me not with your bloody 
hands. Away ! I will not go — strike me'dead first — 
strike me dead, but I will not go." 

" But you shall ! what ! think you I am a child to be 
put off with words and pretty speeches ? What, ho ! 
there, boys — do as I have told you." 

In a moment, the pastor and his child were torn 

" Father— help— help! I lose thee— mother— father 
—Gabriel !" 

" Villain, release me — give me back my child. Undo 
your hold— you shall suffer for this. Ha ! ha ! ha !— 
they come— they come!' Hurry, hurry, my people. 
Here— here— we are here— they tear away my child. 
Where are you— oh, Harrison, but come now — come 
now, and she is yours— only save her from the hands 
of this fierce ruffian. They come — they come !" 

They did come— the broad glare of sunlight on the 
edge of the forest was darkened by approaching shad- 


ows. A shot — another and another were heard — and 
the fugitives, who were Indians flying from the pursu- 
ing Carolinians, rushed forward headlong ; but as they 
saw the group of whites on the river's brink, thinking 
thein new enemies, they darted aside, and taking an- 
other route, buried themselves in the forest out of sighi 
just as their pursuers came forth upon the scene. A 
single glance of Bess Matthews, as the ruffian suddenly 
seized upon and bore her to the boat, distinguished the 
manly form of her lover darting out of the thicket and 
directly upon the path approaching them. That glance 
gave her new hope — new courage — new strength ! She 
shrieked to him in a voice delirious with terror and 
hope, as the pirate, steadying himself in the water, 
placed her in the boat in which sat two of his seamen. 

" Come to me, Gabriel — save me, save me, or I 
perish. It is I — thy own Bess— ever thine — save me, 
save me." 

She fell back fainting with exhaustion and excite- 
ment, and lay nerveless and almost senseless in the 
arms of her abductor. He sustained her with perfect 
ease with one arm upon his bosom, while, standing 
erect, for the boat scarce permitted him with his bur- 
den to do otherwise, he placed his foot upon the 
slender rudder and guided its progress, his men look- 
ing round occasionally and suggesting the course of 
the vessel. In this way, he kept his eye upon shore, 
and beheld the progress of events in that quarter. 

The cries of his betrothed had taught Harrison the 
condition of affairs. He saw her precarious situation 
at a glance, and rushing down to the beach, followed 
by his men, the seamen fled along the banks higher 
up the river, and were soon out of sight, leaving the 
old pastor and his lady free. The scene before him 
was too imposing in the eye of Harrison to permit of 
his giving the fugitives a thought. But the pastor, now 
free from restraint, with a speechless agony rushed 
forward to him, and clasping his arm, pointed with 
.his finger to the form of his daughter, hanging like a 
broken flower, supine, and almost senseless, upon the 


shoulder of her Herculean captor. The action of 
Harrison was immediate, and in a moment, the mus- 
ketoon was lifted to his shoulder, his eye ranging upon 
the sight, and singling out the exposed breast of the 
pirate, which lay uncovered, but just alongside of the 
drooping head of the maiden. As the seaman saw the 
movement, he changed her position — she saw it too, 
and lifting her hand, placed it, with an emphasis not to 
be mistaken, upon her heart. The old man rushed 
forward, and seizing Harrison, cried to him convul- 
sively, while the tears trickled down his cheeks — 

" Stay thy hand — stay thy hand — shoot not ; rather 
let me lose her, but let her live — thou wilt slay her, 
thou wilt slay my child — my own, my only child," and 
he tottered like an infant in his deep agony. 

"Away, old man — away!" and with the words, with 
a terrible strength, Harrison hurled him headlong upon 
the sands. Without a pause the fearful instrument 
was again uplifted — the aim was taken, — his finger 
rested on the trigger, but his heart sickened — his head 
swam — his eyes grew blind and dizzy ere he drew it ; 
and with a shiver of convulsion, he let the weapon 
descend heavily to the ground. The weakness was 
only momentary. A faint scream came to his ears 
over the water, and brought back with it all his 
strength. The maiden had watched closely all his 
motions, and the last had given her energy somewhat 
to direct them. That scream aroused him. He re- 
sumed his position and aim; and fixing the sight upon 
that part of the bosom of his enemy least concealed, 
nerved himself to all the hazard, and resolutely drew 
the trigger. The effect was instantaneous. The 
next instant the maiden was seen released from the 
pirate's grasp and sinking down in the bottom of the 
boat, while he stood erect. The venerable pastor 
fainted, while, on her knees, his aged wife bent over 
him in silent prayer. That moment was more than 
death to Harrison ; but what was his emotion of delight 
when, at the next, he beheld the pirate, like some 
gigantic tree that has kept itself erect by its own ex- 


ceeding weight, fall, like a tower, headlong over the 
side of the boat, stiff and rigid, and without a struggle, 
sink deeply and silently down beneath the overdosing 
waters. But a new danger awaited the maiden ; for in 
his fall, destroying the equipoise of the skiff, its entire 
contents were at the next instant precipitated into the 
stream ; and while the two seamen, unhurt, struck off 
toward the vessel, the maiden lay in sight, sustained 
above the surface only by the buoyancy of her dress, 
and without exhibiting any other motion. A dozen 
sinewy arms from the shore at once struck the water, 
but which of all, nerved as he was by the highest 
stimulant of man's nature, could leave the fearless 
Harrison behind him? On he dashes, on — on — now 
he nears her, — another moment and she is saved ; but 
while every eye was fixed as with a spell upon the pros- 
pect with an anxiety inexpressible, the sullen gushing 
waters went over her, and a universal cry of horror 
arose from the shore. — But she rose again in an 
instant, and with a show of consciousness, stretching 
out her hand, the name of " Gabriel," in a tone of im- 
ploring love, reached the ears of her lover. That 
tone, that word, was enough, and the next moment 
found her insensible in his arms. She was a child in 
his grasp, for the strength of his fearless and passion- 
ate spirit, not less than of his native vigour, was active 
to save her. 

. " Help — help," was his cry to the rest, and to the 
shore ; — he sustained her till it came. It was not 
long ere she lay in the arms of her parents, whose 
mutual tears and congratulations came sweetly, along 
with their free consent, to make her preserver happy 
with the hand hitherto denied him. 



" Another stroke for triumph. It goes well, 
The foe gives back — he yields. Another hour 
Beholds us on his neck." 

Harrison, thus blessed with happiness, appropriated 
but little time, however, to its enjoyment. His mind 
was of that active sort, that even the sweets of love 
were to be enjoyed by him as a stimulant, rather tha^ 
a clog to exertion. Conveying the little family to a 
recess in the woods, and out of sight of the craft of 
the pirate, he immediately proceeded, having first led 
the foresters aside, to explain his farther desires to 
them in reference to their common duties. 

" Joy, my brave fellows, and thanks to you, for this 
last night's good service. You have done well, and 
risked yourselves nobly. Grayson, give me your hand 
— you are a good soldier. Where's your brother ?" 

" Here !" was the single word of response given 
from the rear by the lips of Hugh Grayson, the 
younger. The tone of the monosyllable was melan- 
choly, but not sullen. Harrison advanced to him, and 
extended his hand. 

" Master Grayson, to you we owe most of our 
safety to-day. But for you, the sun would have found 
few of us with a scalp on. Your activity in bringing 
up the men has saved us ; for, though otherwise safe 
enough, the firing of the Block House must have been 
fatal to all within. For myself, I may freely acknowl- 
edge, my life, at this moment, is due to your timely 
appearance. Your command, too, was excellently 
managed for so young a soldier. Accept my thanks, 
sir, in behalf of the country not less than of myself. 
I shall speak to you again on this subject, and in 
regard to other services in which your aid will be re- 
quired, after a while." 


The youth looked upon Harrison with a degree of 
surprise, which prevented him from making any ade- 
quate answer. Whence came that air of conscious 
superiority in the speaker — that, tone of command — 
of a power unquestionable, and held as if born with it 
in his possession. The manner of Harrison had all 
the ease and loftiness of a prince and, scarcely less 
than the crowd around him, the proud-spirited youth 
felt a degree of respectful awe stealing over him, of 
which he began to grow ashamed. But before he 
could recover in time to exhibit any of that rash and 
imperious rusticity which the lowlier born of strong 
native mind is so apt to show in the presence of the 
conventional superior, the speaker had again addressed 
the crowd, i 

"And you, men, you have all done well for the 
country, and it owes you its gratitude." 

" Ay, that it does, captain," said Nichols, advancing 
— "that it does. We have stood by her in the hour of 
her need. We have resisted the approach of the 
bloody invader, and with liberty or death for our motto, 
we have rushed to the conflict, sir, defying conse- 

" Ah, Nichols — you are welcome, both in what you 
have done and what you have said. I might have 
known that the country was safe in your hands, know- 
ing as I do your general sentiments on the subject 
of the liberties of the people. Granville county, 
Nichols, must make you her representative after this, 
and I'm sure she will." The speaker smiled sarcas- 
tically as he spoke, but Nichols had no sight for such 
an expression. He replied earnestly: — 

" Ah, captain — 'twere an honour ;— and could my 
fellow-countrymen be persuaded to look upon me with 
your eyes, proud would I be to stand up for their rights, 
and with the thunders of my voice, compel that justice 
from the assembly which, in denying representation 
to all dissenters, they have most widely departed from. 
Ay, captain — fellow-citizens — permit me to address 
you now upon a few topics most important to your 


own liberties, and to the common benefit of humanity. 
My voice — " 

" Must just at this moment be unheard," interrupted 
Harrison ; " we have need of other thunders now. 
Hear me, gentlemen, for this I have called you together. 
I want from among you thirty volunteers — hardy, 
whole-souled fellows, who do not count heads in a 
scuffle. The enterprise is dangerous, and must be 
executed — very dangerous Ifsay, and I beg that none 
may offer but those who are perfectly ready at any 
moment — to use the words of Dr. Nichols — to die for 
the country. The doctor himself, however, must not 
go, as he is too important to us in his surgical capacity." 

Nichols, well pleased with the exception thus made, 
was not however willing to appear so, and, glad of the 
opportunity, could not forbear making something of 
a popular hit. 

"How, captain — this may not be. I am not one of 
those, sir, altogether content to be denied the privilege 
of dying for my country when occasion calls for it. 
Let me go on this service — I insist. I am one of the 
people, and will forego none of their dangers." 

" Oh, well, if you insist upon it, of course I can say 
nothing — we hold you pledged, therefore. There are 
now three of us — Master Hugh Grayson, I presume to 
place you, as one with myself and Dr. Nichols, volun- 
teering upon this service. I understand you so." 

The high compliment, and the delicate manner in 
which it was conveyed, totally disarmed young Gray- 
son, who, softened considerably by the proceeding, 
bowed his head in assent, approaching by degrees to 
where Harrison stood. Nichols, on the other hand, 
had not contemplated so easily getting the permission 
which he called for, and well knowing his man, Harri- 
son barely gave it, as he foresaw it would not be long 
before he would assume new ground, which would 
bring about a ready evasion of his responsibility. The 
elder G^^son meanwhile volunteered also, followed 
by several others, and in a little time the required 
number was almost complete. But the surgeon now 
demanded to know the nature of the service. 


" What matters it, doctor — it is an honourable, be- 
cause a dangerous service. You shall know in time." 

" That does not suit me, captain. What, — shall I 
suffer myself to be led blindfold upon a duty, the pro- 
priety of which may be doubtful, not less than the pol- 
icy ? Sir — I object upon principle ?'.' 

" Principle — indeed, doctor," said Harrison, smiling. 
" Why, what in the name of pounds and shillings has 
principle to do in this business ?" 

" Enough, sir — the rights of man — of the people of 
the country, are all involved. Do I not, sir, in thus 
volunteering upon a service of which I know nothing, 
put myself under the control of one who may make me 
a traitor to my country — a defier of the laws, and prob- 
ably a murderer of my fellow-man 1 Sir, what secu- 
rity have I of the morality and the lawfulness of your 
proceeding ?" 

" Very true — you are right, and such being your 
opinions, I think you would err greatly to volunteer in 
this business," was the grave response of Harrison. 

" Ah, I knew you would agree with me, captain — I 
knew it," cried the doctor, triumphantly. 

" I want another man or two — we are something 

As the leader spoke Hector came forward, his head 
hanging on one shoulder, as if he feared rebuff for 
his presumption, in the unlooked-for proffer of service 
which he now made. 

" Mossa — you let Hector go, he glad too much. He 
no want stay here wid de doctor and de 'omans." 

His reference to the demagogue, accompanied as it 
was with an ill-concealed chuckle of contempt, pro- 
voked the laughter of the crowd ; and observing that 
the greater number looked favourably upon the propo- 
sal of the negro, Harrison consented. 

" You will knock a Spaniard on the head, sir, if I 
bid you ?" 

" Yes, mossa, and scalp 'em too, jist like dem In- 

" You shall go." 


" Tankee — dat's a good mossa. Hello, da — " and 
perfectly overjoyed, he broke out with a stanza of negro 
minstrelsy common, even now, to the slaves of Caro- 
lina — 

" He come rain — he come shine, 

Hab a good mossa, who da care X 
De black is de white and de white is de black, 

Hab a good mossa, who da care ? 
But look out, nigger, when misses come — 
Hah ! den de wedder will alter some — 
If she cross, — Oh ! — wtto for say, 
You ebber again see sunshine day ?" 

How long Hector might have gone on with his un- 
couth, and, so far as the sex is interested, ungallant min- 
strelsy, may not well be said ; but seeing its direction, 
his master silenced it in a sufficiently potent manner. 

" Be still, sirrah, or you shall feed on hickory." 

" No hab stomach for 'em, mossa. I dumb." 

" 'Tis well. Now, men, see to your weapons — 
hatchets and knives for all — we shall need little else, 
but fearless hearts and strong hands. Our purpose is 
to seize upon that pirate vessel in the river." 

The men started with one accord. 

" Ay, no less. It's a perilous service, but not so 
perilous as it appears. I happen to know that there 
are now not two men on board of the vessel accus- 
tomed to the management of the guns — not fifteen on 
board in all. Granger has got us boats in plenty, and 
I have conceived a plan by which we shall attack her 
on all points. Something of our success will depend 
upon their consciousness of weakness. They are 
without a commander, and their men accustomed to 
fighting are in our woods dead or running, and in no 
ability to serve them. The show of numbers, and ten 
or a dozen boats with stout men approaching them, 
will do much with their fears. We shall thus board 
them with advantage ; and though I hope not to es- 
cape with all of us unhurt, I am persuaded we shall 
be successful without much loss. Master Hugh Gray- 
son will command three of the boats, Master Walter 
Grayson three others, and the rest will be with me. 

Vol. II. 


You have now heard. If, like the doctor here, any of 
you object to proceeding, on principle, against this pi- 
rate who has sought the destruction of our people 
well and good — they are at liberty to withdraw, and 
we shall look for other men less scrupulous. Who is 
ready ?" 

The confident,— almost careless manner of the 
speaker, was of more effect than his language. The 
cry was unanimous : 

" Lead on — we are ready." 

" I thank you, my merry men, and old England 
for ever ! Master Hugh Grayson, and you, friend 
Walter, — let us counsel here a moment." 

He led them aside, and together they matured the 
plan of attack. Then leaving them to parcel off the 
men, Harrison stole away for a few moments into the 
silent grove where the pastor's family was sheltered. 
As we have no business there, we can only conjecture 
the motive of his visit. A press of the hand from the 
beloved one were much to one about to go upon an 
adventure of life and death. He returned in a few 
moments with increased alacrity, and led the way to 
the boats, eleven in number, which Granger in the 
meantime had selected from those employed by the 
Indians in crossing the preceding night. They were 
small, but sufficiently large for the men apportioned to 
each. In their ditninutiveness, too, lay much of their 
safety from the great guns of the vessel. 

Leading the way, the boat of Harrison, followed by 
those in his charge, shot ahead of the rest, bearing 
down full upon the broadside of the pirate. This was 
the most dangerous point of approach. The two 
Graysons led their separate force, the one to reach the 
opposite side, the other at the stern lights, in order 
that the attack should be simultaneous at all vulnera- 
ble places. In this manner the six boats covered the 
various assailable points of the vessel ; and necessa- 
rily, by dividing their force for the protection of each 
quarter, weakened the capacity of the seamen to con- 
tend with them. 


The pirate lay at about a mile and a half below 
them upon the river — her form in perfect repose — and 
even weaker in her force than Harrison had conjec- 
tured. Bewildered with his situation, and unaccus- 
tomed to command, the inferior officer, left in tempo- 
rary charge of her by Chorley, had done nothing, and 
indeed could do nothing toward the defence of h\s 
vessel. The few men left with him had become re- 
fractory ; and with the reputed recklessness of men in 
their way of life, had proceeded, during the absence 
; of Chorley, whom they feared rather than respected, 
to all manner of excess. Liquor, freely distributed 
by the commanding officer, with the hope to pacify, 
had only the effect of stimulating their violence ; and 
the approach of the assailing party, magnified by their 
fears and excesses, found them without energy to re 
sist, and scarcely ability to fly. The lieutenant did 
indeed endeavour to bring them to some order and 
show of defence. With his own hand he rigged up a 
gun, which he pointed among the approaching boats. 
The scattering and whizzing shot Avould have been 
fatal, had the aim been better ; but apprehension and 
excitement had disturbed too greatly the mental equi- 
librium of officer and men alike ; and not anticipating 
such a result to their adventure, and having no thought 
themselves of being attacked where they had come to 
be assailants, they fell into a panic from which they 
did not seek to recover. The failure of the shot to 
injure their enemies completed their apprehension ; 
and, as the little squadron of Harrison continued to 
approach, without fear and without obstruction, the 
refractory seamen let down their own boats in the di- 
rection of the opposite shore, and, so considerably in 
advance of the Carolinians as to defy pursuit, were 
seen by them pulling with all industry toward the In- 
dian country. A single man, the lieutenant, appeared 
on board for a few moments after they had left the 
vessel ; but whether he remained from choice, or that 
they refused to take him with them, was at that time 


a mystery to the assailing party. His design may be 
guessed at in the sequel. 

Despatching the Graysons in pursuit of the flying 
pirates, whose number did not exceed ten men, Harri- 
son brought his boat alongside the vessel, and reso- 
lutely leaped on board. But where was the lieutenant 
he had seen but a few minutes before ? He called 
aloud, and traversed the deck in search of him, but in 
vain. He was about to descend to the cabin, when 
he felt himself suddenly seized upon by Hector, who, 
with looks of excited terror, dragged him forward to 
the side of the vessel, and with a directing finger and 
a single word, developed their full danger to his master. 

" Mossa — de ship da burn — look at de smoke — jump, 
mossa, for dear life — jump in de water." It needed 
no second word — they sprang over the side of the ves- 
sel at the same instant that an immense body of dense 
sulphureous vapour ascended from below. The river 
received them, for their boat had been pushed off", with 
a proper precaution, to a little distance. Ere they 
were taken up, the catastrophe was over — the explo- 
sion had taken place, and the sky was blackened with 
the smoke and fragments of the vessel upon which, 
but a few moments before, they had stood in perfect 
safety. But where was the lieutenant ? — where ? He 
had been precipitate in his application of the match, 
and his desperation found but a single victim in him- 



" It is the story's picture — we must group, 
So that the eye may see what the quick mind 
Has chronicled before. The painter's art 
Is twin unto the poet's — both were born, 
That truth might have a tone of melody, 
And fancy shape her motion into grace." 

A motley assemblage gathered at the Chiefs Bluff, 
upon the banks of the Pocota-ligo, at an early hour on 
the day so full of incident. A fine day after so foul a 
promise — the sun streamed brightly, and the skies with- 
out a cloud looked down peacefully over the settlement. 
But there was little sympathy among the minds of the 
borderers with such a prospect. They had suffered 
quite too much, and their sufferings were quite too 
fresh in their minds, properly to feel it. Worn out 
with fatigue, and not yet recovered from their trials 
and terrors — now struggling onward with great effort, 
and now borne in the arms of the more able-bodied 
among the men, came forward the women and children 
who had been sheltered in the Block House. That 
structure was now in ashes — so indeed, generally 
speaking, were all the dwellings between that point 
and Pocota-ligo. Below the former point, however, 
thanks to the manful courage and ready appearance of 
Hugh Grayson with the troop he had brought up, the 
horrors of the war had not extended. But in all other 
quarters, the insurrection had been successful. Far 
and wide, scattering themselves in bands over every 
other part of the colony, the Yemassees and their 
numerous allies were carrying the terrors of their arms 
through the unprepared and unprotected settlement, 
down to the very gates of Charlestown — the chief 
town and principal rallying point of the Carolinians, 
and there the inhabitants were literally walled in, un 


able to escape unless by sea, and then, only from the 
country. But this belongs elsewhere. The group 
now assembled upon the banks of the Pocota-ligo, ab 
sorbed as they were in their own grievances, had not 
thought of the condition of their neighbours. The 
straits and sufferings of the other settlements were 
utterly unimagined by them generally. But one per- 
son of all the group properly conjectured the extend 
of the insurrection — that was Harrison. He had been 
a part witness to the league — had counted the various 
tribes represented in that gloomy dance of death — the 
club and scalp-dance — the rites of demoniac concep- 
tion and origin ; — and he felt that the very escape of 
the people around him only arose from the concentra- 
tion of the greater force of the savages upon the more 
populous settlements of the Carolinians. Full of satis- 
faction that so many had been saved, his mind was yet 
crowded with the thousand apprehensions that came 
with his knowledge of the greater danger to which the 
rest of the colony was exposed. He knew the strong 
body commanded by Sanutee to be gone in the direc- 
tion of the Ashley river settlement. He knew that a 
force of Spaniards was expected to join them from St. 
Augustine, but whether by sea or land was yet to be 
determined. He felt the uncertainty of his position, 
and how doubtful was the condition of the province 
under such an array of enemies ; but with a mind still 
cheerful, he gave his orders for the immediate remove, 
by water, to the city ; and having completed his prep- 
arations as well as he might, and while the subordi- 
nates were busied in procuring boats, he gave himself, 
for a brief time, to the family of Bess Matthews. 
IiOng and sweet was the murmuring conversation car- 
ried on between the lovers. Like a stream relieved 
from the pressure of the ice, her affections now poured 
themselves freely into his. The consent of her father 
had been given, even if his scruples had not been 
withdrawn, and that was enough. Her hand rested in 
the clasp of his, and the unrebuking eyes of the old 
Puritan gave it a sufficient sanction. Matthews may 


have sought, in what he then said, to satisfy himself of 
the necessity for his consent, if he had failed to satisfy 
his conscience. 

" She is yours, Captain Harrison — she is yours ! 
But for you, but for you, God knows, and I dread to 
think, what would have been her fate in the hands of 
that bad man. Bad from his cradle, for I knew him 
from that time, and knew that, mischief then, and 
crime when he grew older, were his familiar play- 
mates, and his most companionable thoughts." 

" You were slow in discovering it, sir," was the re- 
ply of Harrison — " certainly slow in acknowledging it 
to me." 

" I had a hope, Master Harrison, that he had grown 
a wiser and a better man, and was therefore unwilling 
to mortify him with the recollection of the past, or to 
make it public to his ill-being. But let us speak of 
him no more. There are other topics far more grate- 
ful in the recollection of our escape from this dreadful 
night ; and long and fervent should be our prayers to 
the benevolent Providence who has had us so affec- 
tionately in his care. But what now are we to do, 
Captain Harrison — what is our hope of safety, and 
where are we to go 1" 

" I have thought of all this, sir. There is but one 
course for us, and that is to place the young and feeble 
safely in Charlestown. There is no safety short of 
that point." 

" How— not at Port Royal Island V 

" No ! not even there — we shall be compelled to 
hurry past it now as rapidly as possible in our way to 
the place of refuge — the only place that can now cer- 
tainly be considered such." 

" What — shall we go by water ?" 

" There is no other way. By this time, scarce a 
mile of wood between Pocota-ligo and Charlestown 
itself but is filled by savages. I saw the force last 
night, and that with which we contended was nothing 
to the numbers pledged in this insurrection. They 


did not look for resistance here, and hence the small- 
ness of their numbers in this quarter." 

" And to your wise precautions, Master Harrison, 
we owe all this. How unjust 1 have been to you, sir !" 

" Speak not of it, Master Matthews — you have more 
than atoned in the rich possession which I now hold. 
Ah, Bess ! — I see you look for the promised secret. 
Well, it shall be told. But stay — I have a duty. — 
Pardon me a while." 

He rose as he spoke, and made a signal to Hector, 
who now came forward with the dog Dugdale, which 
had been wounded with an arrow in the side, not seri- 
ously, but painfully, as was evident from the wri- 
things and occasional moanings of the animal, while 
Hector busied himself plastering the wound with the 
resinous gum of the pine-tree. 

" Hector," said his master, as he approached — " give 
me Dugdale. Henceforward I shall take care of him 

" Sa ! mossa," exclaimed the negro, with an expres- 
sion almost of terrified amazement in his countenance. 

" Yes, Hector, — you are now free. — I give you your 
freedom, old fellow. Here is money too, and in 
Charlestown you shall have a house to live in for your- 

" No, mossa. — I can't, sir — I can't be free," replied 
the negro, shaking his head, and endeavouring to re- 
sume possession of the strong cord which secured the 
dog, and which Harrison had taken into his own hand. 

" Why can't you, Hector ? What do you mean ? 
Am I not your master ? Can't I make you free, and 
don't I tell you that I do make you free 1 From this 
moment you are your own master." 

" Wha'-for, mossa ? Wha' Hector done, you guine 
turn um off dis time o' day?" 

" Done ! You have saved my life, old fellow — you 
have fought for me like a friend, and I am now your 
friend, and not any longer your master." 

" Ki, mossa ! enty you always been frien' to Hector ? 
Enty you gib um physic when he sick, and come see 


and talk wid um, and do ebbery ting he want you for 
do 1 What more you guine do, now V 

" Yes, Hector, I have done for you all this — but I 
have done it because you were my slave, and because 
I was bound to do it." 

" Ah, you no want to be boun' any longer. Da's it ! 
I see. You want Hector for eat acorn wid de hog, and 
take de swamp wid de Injin, enty ?" 

" Not so, old fellow — but I cannot call you my slave 
when I would call you my friend. I shall get another 
slave to carry Dugdale, and you shall be free." 

" I dam to hell, mossa, if I guine to be free !" roared 
the adhesive black, in a tone of unrestrainable deter- 
mination. " I can't loss you company, and who de 
debble Dugdale will let feed him like Hector ? 'Tis 
unpossible, mossa, and dere's no use to talk 'bout it. 
De ting aint right ; and enty I know wha' kind of ting 
freedom is wid black man ? Ha ! you make Hector 
free, he come wuss more nor poor buckrah — he tief 
out of de shop — he get drunk and lie in de ditch — den, 
if sick come, he roll, he toss in de wet grass of de 
stable. You come in de morning, Hector dead — and, 
who know — he no take physic, he no hab parson — 
who know, I say, mossa, but de debble fine em 'fore 
anybody else 1 No, mossa — you and Dugdale berry 
good company for Hector. I tank God he so good — 
I no want any better." 

The negro was positive, and his master, deeply af- 
fected with this evidence of his attachment, turned 
away in silence, offering no farther obstruction to the 
desperate hold which he again took of the wounded 
Dugdale. Approaching the little group from which but 
a few moments before he had parted, he stood up in 
earnest conversation with the pastor, while the hand 
of Bess, in confiding happiness and innocence, was suf- 
fered to rest passively in his own. It was a moment 
of delicious rapture to both parties. But there was 
one who stood apart, yet surveying the scene, to whom 
it brought a pang little short of agony. This was tae 
younger Grayson. Tears started to his eyes as he 


beheld them, and he turned away from the group in 
a suffering anguish, that, for the moment, brought back 
those sterner feelings which he had hitherto so well 
suppressed. The eye of Harrison caught the move- 
ment, and readily divined its cause. Calling Granger 
to him, he demanded from him a small packet which 
he had intrusted to his care on leaving the Block House 
for Pocota-ligo the evening before. The question dis- 
turbed the trader not a little, who, at length, frankly 
confessed he had mislaid it. 

" Say not so, man ! think ! — that packet is of 
value, and holds the last treaty of the colony with the 
Queen of St. Helena, and the Cassique of Combahee — 
not to speak of private despatches, set against which 
thy worthless life would have no value ! Look, man, 
as thou lovest thy quiet !" 

" It is here, sir — all in safety, as thou gavest it him," 
said the wife of the trader, coming forward. " In the 
hurry of the fight he gave it me for safe-keeping, though 
too much worried to think afterward of the trust." 

" Thou art a strong-minded woman — and 'tis well 
for Granger that thou hast him in charge. Take 
my thanks for thy discharge of duties self-assumed, 
and not assigned thee. Thou shalt be remembered." 
Possessing himself of the packet, he approached 
Hugh Grayson, who stood sullenly apart, and drawing 
from its folds a broad sheet of parchment, he thus 
addressed him : — 

" Master Grayson, the colony owes thee thanks for 
thy good service, and would have more from thee. I 
know not one in whom, at such a time, its proprietary 
lords can better confide, in this contest, than in thee. 
Thou hast courage, enterprise, and conduct — art not 
too rash, nor yet too sluggard — but, to my poor mind, 
thou combinest happily all the materials which should 
make a good captain. Thou hast a little mistaken me 
in some things, and, perhaps, thou hast something erred 
in estimating thyself. But thou art young, and respon- 
sibility makes the man — nothing like responsibility ! 
So thinking, and with a frank speech, I beg of thee to . 


accept this commission. It confers on thee all military 
command in this county of Granville, to pursue the 
enemies of the colony with fire and sword — to control 
its people for the purposes of war in dangerous times 
like the present — and to do, so long as this insurrection 
shall continue, whatever may seem wise to thy mind, 
for the proprietors and for the people, as if they had 
spoken through thy own mouth. Is the trust agreeable 
to thee ?" 

" Who art thou V was the surprised response of the 
youth, looking a degree of astonishment, corresponding 
with that upon the faces of all around, to whom the 
speaker had hitherto only been known as Gabriel Har- 

" True — let me answer that question. The reply 
belongs to more than one. Bess, dearest, thou shalt 
now be satisfied ; but in learning my secret, thou losest 
thy lover. Know, then, thou hast Gabriel Harrison no 
longer ! I am Charles Craven, Governor and Lord 
Palatine of Carolina !" 

She sunk with a tearful pleasure into his arms as 
he spoke, and the joyful shout of all around attested 
the gratification with which the people recognised in 
an old acquaintance the most popular governor of the 
Carolinas, under the lords-proprietors, which the Caro- 
linians ever had. 

" I take your commission, my lord," replied Gray- 
son, with a degree of firm manliness superseding his 
gloomy expression and clearing it away — " I take it, 
sir, and will proceed at once to the execution of its 
duties. Your present suggestions, sir, will be of 

" You shall have them, Master Grayson, in few 
words," was the reply of the palatine. " It will be 
your plan to move down with your present force along 
the river, taking with you, as you proceed, all the set- 
tlers, so as to secure their safety. Your point of rest 
and defence will be the fort at Port Royal, which now 
lacks most of its garrison from the draught made on it 
by my orders to Bellinger, and which gave you com- 


mand of the brave men you brought up last night. I 
shall be at Port Royal before you, and will do what I 
may there, in the meanwhile, toward its preparation, 
whether for friend or foe. With your present force, 
and what I shall send you on my arrival at Charlestown, 
you will be adequate to its defence." 

"Ahem, ahem ! — My lord," cried Nichols, awkwardly 
approaching — " My lord, permit me, with all due hu- 
mility, to suggest that the duties so assigned Master 
Grayson are heavy upon such young hands. Ahem ! 
my lord — it is not now that I have to say that I have 
never yet shrunk from the service of the people. I 
would — " 

" Ay, ay, Nichols — I know what you would say, and 
duly estimate your public spirit ; but, as you are the 
only surgeon — indeed, the only medical man in the 
parish — to risk your life unnecessarily, in a command 
so full of risk as that assigned Master Grayson, would 
be very injudicious. We may spare a soldier — or even 
an officer — but the loss of a doctor is not so easily 
supplied — and" — here his voice sunk into a whisper, 
as he finished the sentence in the ears of the patriot — 
" the probability is, that your commander, from the 
perilous service upon which he goes, will be the very 
first to claim your skill." 

" Well, my lord, if I must, I must — but you can un- 
derstand, though it does not become me to say, how 
readily I should meet death in behalf of the people." 

" That I know — that I know, Nichols. Your pa- 
triotism is duly estimated Enough, now — and fare- 
well, gentlemen — God speed, and be your surety. 
Granger, let us have boats for the city." 

"Young missis," whispered Hector, taking Bess 
Matthews aside — " let me beg you call Hector your 
sarbant — tell mossa you must hab me — dat you can't 
do widout me, and den, you see, misses, he wun't bod- 
der me any more wid he long talk 'bout freedom. Den, 
you see, he can't turn me off", no how." She promised 
him as he desired, and he went off to the boats sing- 
ing :— 


" Go hush you tongue, black nigger, 

Wha' for you grumble so '! 

You hab you own good mossa, 

And you hab good misses too : 
1 Che-weet, che-weet,' de little bird cry, 

When he put he nose under he wing, 
But he hab no song like Hector make, 
* When de young misses yerry urn sing." 

"' Well, good-by, Mossa Doctor, good-by ! Dem Ingins 
'member you long time — dem dat you kill !" 

" What do you mean, you black rascal !" cried Con- 
stantine Maximilian to the retreating negro, who saw 
the regretful expression with which the medical man 
surveyed the preparation for a departure from the scene 
of danger, in the securities of which he was not per- 
mitted to partake. Three cheers marked the first 
plunge of the boats from the banks, bearing off the 
gallant palatine with his peerless forest-flower. 


" Truthe, this is an olde chronycle, ywritte 
Ynne a strange lettere, whyche myne eyne have redde 
Whenne birchen were a lessonne of the schoole, 
Of nighe applyance. I doe note it welle, 
'1 faithe, evenne by that tokenne ; albeit muche, 
The type hath worne away to skeleton, 
That once, lyke some fatte, pursy aldermanne, 
Stoode uppe in twentie stonne." 

Our tale becomes history. The web of fiction is 
woven — the romance is nigh over. The old wizard 
may not trench upon the territories of truth. He stops 
short at her approach with a becoming reverence. It 
is for all things, even for the upsoaring fancy, to wor- 
ship and keep to the truth. There is no security un- 
less in its restraints. The fancy may play capri- 
ciously only with the unknown. Where history dare 
not go, it is then for poetry, borrowing a wild gleam from 
the blear eye of tradition, to couple with her own the 


wings of imagination, and overleap the boundaries of 
the defined and certain. We have done this in our 
written pages. We may do this no longer. The 
old chronicle is before us, and the sedate muse of his- 
tory, from her graven tablets, dictates for the future. 
We write at her bidding now. 

In safety, and with no long delay, Harrison, — or, as 
We should now call him, — the palatine, — reached 
Charlestown, the metropolis of Carolina. He found it 
in sad dilemma and dismay. As he had feared, the 
warlike savages were at its gates. The citizens 
were hemmed in — confined to the shelter of the seven 
forts which girdled its dwellings — half-starved, and 
kept in constant watchfulness against hourly surprise. 
The Indians had ravaged with fire and the tomahawk 
all the intervening country. Hundreds of the innocent 
and unthinking inhabitants had perished by deaths the 
most painful and protracted. The farmer had been 
shot down in the furrows where he sowed his corn. 
His child had been butchered upon the threshold, 
where, hearing the approaching footsteps, it had run 
to meet its father. The long hair of his young wife, 
grasped in the clutches of the murderer, became an 
agent of torture, which had once been an attraction and 
a pride. Death and desolation smoked along the wide 
stretch of country bordering the coast, and designating 
the route of European settlement in the interior. In 
the neighbourhood of Pocota-ligo alone, ninety persons 
were destroyed. St. Bartholomew's parish was rav- 
aged — the settlement of Stono, including the beautiful 
little church of that place, was entirely destroyed by fire, 
While but few of the inhabitants, even of the surround- 
ing plantations, escaped the fury of the invaders. All 
the country about Dorchester, then new as a settle- 
ment, and forming the nucleus of that once beautiful 
and attractive, but thrice-doomed village, shared the 
same fate, until the invaders reached Goose Creek, 
when the sturdy militia of that parish, led on by Cap- 
tain Chiquang, a gallant young Huguenot, gave them 
a repulse, and succeeding in throwing themselves be 


tween the savages and the city, reached Charlestown, 
in time to assist in the preparations making for its 

The arrival of the palatine gave a new life and fresh 
confidence to the people. His course was such as 
might have been expected from his decisive character. 
He at once proclaimed martial law — laid an embargo, 
preventing the departure of any of the male citizens, 
and the exportation of clothes, provisions, or any thing 
which might be useful to the colonists in their exist- 
ing condition. Waiting for no act of assembly to au- 
thorize his proceedings, but trusting to their subse- 
quent sense of right to acknowledge and ratify what 
he had done, as was indeed the case, he proceeded by 
draught, levy, and impressment, to raise an army of 
eleven hundred men, in addition to those employed in 
maintaining the capital. In this proceeding he still 
more signally showed his decision of character, by 
venturing upon an experiment sufficiently dangerous 
to alarm those not acquainted with the condition of the 
southern negro. Four hundred of the army so raised, 
consisted of slaves, drawn from the parishes according to 
assessment. Charlestown gave thirty — Christ Church, 
sixteen — St. Thomas and St. Dennis, fifty-five — St. 
James, Goose Creek, fifty-five — St. Andrews, eighty — 
St. John's, Berkley, sixty — St. Paul's, forty-five — St. 
James', Santee, thirty-five — St. Bartholomew's, sixteen 
— St. Helena, eight — making up the required total of 
four hundred. To these, add six hundred Carolinians, 
and one hundred friendly Indians or allies ; these lat- 
ter being Tuscaroras,* from North Carolina, almost the 
only Indian nation in the south not in league against 
the colony. Other bodies of men were also raised for 
stations, keeping possession of the Block Houses at 
points most accessible to the foe, and where the de- 
fence was most important. At the Savano town, a 
corps of forty men were stationed — a similar force at 

* Apart from his pay in this war, each Tuscarora received, on re- 
turning home, as a bounty, one gun, one hatchet ; and for every slave 
which he may have lost, an enemy's slave in return ! 


Rawlin's Bluff on the Edistoh ; at Port Royal ; on the 
Combahee ; at the Horseshoe — and other places, in 
like manner, forming so many certain garrisons to the 
end of the war. All other steps taken by the palatine 
were equally decisive ; and such were the severe and 
summary penalties annexed to the non-performance of 
the duties required from the citizen, that there was 
no evasion of their execution. Death was the doom, 
whether of desertion from duty, or of a neglect to ap- 
pear at the summons to the field. The sinews of war 
in another respect were also provided by the palatine. 
He issued bills of credit for 30,000Z. to raise supplies j 
the counterfeiting of which, under the decree of the 
privy council, was punishable by death without benefit 
of clergy. Having thus prepared for the contest, he 
placed himself at the head of his rude levies, and with 
a word of promise and sweet regret to his young bride, 
he marched out to meet the enemy. 

War with the American Indians was a matter of far 
greater romance than modern European warfare pos- 
sibly can be. There was nothing of regular array in 
such conflicts as those of the borderers with the sava- 
ges ; and individual combats, such as give interest to 
story, were common events in all such issues. The 
borderer singled out his foe, and grappled with him in 
the full confidence of superior muscle. With him, 
too, every ball was fated. He threw away no shot in 
line. His eye conducted his finger ; and he touched 
no trigger, unless he first ranged the white drop at the 
muzzle of his piece upon some vital point of his foe's 
person. War, really, was an art, and a highly inge- 
nious one, in the deep recesses and close swamps of 
the southern forests.. There was no bull-headed 
marching up to the mouth of the cannon. Their pride 
was to get around it — to come in upon the rear — to 
insinuate — to dodge — to play with the fears or the 
false confidence of the foe, so as to effect by surprise 
what could not be done by other means. These were 
the arts of the savages. It was fortunate for the Caro- 
linians that their present leader knew them so well. 


Practised as he had been, the palatine proceeded 
leisurely, but decisively, to contend with his enemies 
on their own ground, and after their own fashion. He 
omitted no caution which could ensure against sur- 
prise, and at the same time he allowed himself no de- 
lay. Gradually advancing, with spies always out, he 
foiled all the efforts of his adversary. In vain did San- 
utee put all his warrior skill in requisition. In vain 
did his most cunning braves gather along the sheltered 
path in ambuscade. In vain did they show themselves 
in small numbers, and invite pursuit by an exhibition 
of timidity. The ranks of the Carolinians remained 
unbroken. There was no exciting their leader to pre- 
cipitation. His equanimity was invincible, and he 
kept his men steadily upon their way — still advancing 
— still backing their adversaries — and with courage 
and confidence in themselves, duly increasing with 
every successful step in their progress. 

Sanutee did not desire battle, until the force prom- 
ised by the Spaniards should arrive. He was in 
momentary expectation of its appearance. Still, he 
was reluctant to recede from his ground, so advan- 
tageously taken ; particularly, too, as he knew that the 
Indians, only capable of sudden action, are not the 
warriors for a patient and protracted watch in the field, 
avoiding the conflict for which they have expressly 
come out. His anxieties grew with the situation 
forced upon him by the army and position of the 
palatine ; and, gradually giving ground, he was com- 
pelled, very reluctantly, to fall back upon the river 
of Salke-hatchie, where the Yemassees had a small 
town, some twenty miles from Pocota-ligo. Here 
he formed his great camp, determined to recede no 
farther. His position was good. The river-swamp 
ran in an irregular sweep, so as partially to form in 
front of his array. His men he distributed through a 
thick copse running alongside of the river, which lay 
directly in his rear. In retreat, the swamps were 
secure fastnesses, and they were sufficiently contigu- 
ous. The night had set in before he took his position. 


The Carolinians were advancing, and but a few miles 
divided the two armies. Sanutee felt secure from 
attack so long as he maintained his present position ; 
and sending out scouts, and preparing all things, like 
a true warrior, for every event, he threw himself, 
gloomy with conflicting thoughts, under the shadow of 
an old tree that rose up in front of his array. 

"While he mused, his ear caught the approach of a 
light footstep behind him. He turned, and his eye 
rested upon Matiwan. She crept humbly toward him, 
and lay at his feet. He did not repulse her ; but his 
tones, though gentle enough, were gloomily sad. 

" Would Matiwan strike with a warrior, that she 
comes to the camp of the Yemassee 1 Is there no 
lodge in Pocota-ligo for the woman of a chief?" 

" The lodge is not for Matiwan, if the chief be not 
there. Shall the woman have no eyes — what can the 
eye of Matiwan behold if Sanutee stand not up before 
it. The boy is not — " 

" Cha ! cha ! It is the tongue of a foolish bird that 
sings after the season. Let the woman speak of the 
thing that is. Would the chief of the Yemassee hear 
a song from the woman ? It must be of the big club, 
and the heavy blow. Blood must be in the song, and 
a thick cry." 

" Matiwan has a song of blood and a thick cry, 
like Opitchi-Manneyto makes when he comes from the 
black swamps of Edistoh. She saw the black spirit 
with the last dark. He stood up before her in the 
lodge, and he had a curse for the woman, for Matiwan 
took from him his slave. He had a curse for Mati- 
wan — and a fire-word, oh, well-beloved, for Sanutee." 

" Cha, cha ! Sanutee has no ear for the talk of a 

" The Opitchi-Manneyto spoke of Yemassee," said 
the woman. 

" Ha ! what said the black spirit to the woman of 
Yemassee ?" was the question of the chief, with more 

" The scalps of the Yemassee were in his hand — 


the teeth of the Yemassee were round his neck, and 
he carried an arrow that was broken." 

" Thou liest — thou hast- a forked tongue, and a 
double voice for mine ear. The arrow of Yemassee 
is whole." 

" The chief has a knife for the heart. Let the 
well-beloved strike the bosom of Matiwan. Oh, chief 
— thou wilt see the red blood that is true. Strike, and 
tell it to come. Is it not thine ?" she bared her breast 
as she spoke, and her eyes were full upon his with a 
look of resignation and of love, which spoke her truth. 
The old warrior put his hand tenderly upon the ex- 
posed bosom, — 

"The blood is good under the hand of Sanutee, 
Speak, Matiwan." 

" The scalps of Yemassee — and the long tuft of a 
chief were in the hand of the Opitchi-Manneyto." 

" What chief?" inquired Sanutee. 

" The great chief, Sanutee — the well-beloved of the 
Yemassee," groaned the woman, as she denounced his 
own fate in the ears of the old warrior. She sunk 
prostrate before him when she had spoken, her face 
prone to the ground. The chief was silent for an 
instant after hearing the prediction conveyed by her 
vision, which the native superstition, and his own pre- 
vious thoughts of gloom, did not permit him to ques- 
tion. Raising her after awhile, he simply exclaimed — 

" It is good !" 

" Shall Matiwan go back to the lodge in Pocota- 
ligo ?" she asked, in a tone which plainly enough 
craved permission to remain. 

" Matiwan will stay. The battle-god comes with 
the next sun, and the Happy Valley is open for the 

" Matiwan is glad. The Happy Valley is for the 
woman of the chief, and the boy — " 

" Cha ! it is good, Matiwan, that thou didst strike 
with the keen hatchet into the head of Occonestoga — 
Good ! But the chief would not hear of him. Look 
— the bush is ready for thy sleep." 


He pointed to the copse as he spoke, and his manner 
forbade farther conversation. Leaving her, he took his 
way among the warriors, arranging the disposition of 
his camp and of farther events. 

Meanwhile the palatine approached the enemy, 
slowly, but with certainty. Confident, as he advanced, 
he nevertheless made his approaches sure. He took 
counsel of all matters calculated to affect or concern 
the controversies of war. He omitted no precaution 
— spared no pains — suffered nothing to divert him 
from the leading object in which his mind was inter- 
ested. His scouts were ever in motion, and as he 
himself knew much of the country through which he 
marched, his information was at all times certain. 
He pitched his camp within a mile of the position 
chosen by the Yemassees, upon ground carefully se- 
lected so as to prevent surprise. His main force lay 
in the hollow of a wood, which spread in the rear of a 
small mucky bay, interposed directly between his own 
and the strength of the enemy. A. thick copse hung 
upon either side, and here he scattered a chosen band 
of his best sharp shooters. They had their instruc- 
tions ; and as he left as little as possible to chance, he 
took care that they fulfilled them. Such were his 
arrangements that night, as soon as his ground of en- 
campment had been chosen. At a given signal, the 
main body of the army retired to their tents. The 
blanket of each soldier, suspended from a crotch-stick, 
as was the custom of war in that region, formed his 
covering from the dews of night. The long grass con- 
stituted a bed sufficiently warm and soft in a clime, 
and at a season, so temperate. The fires were kindled, 
the roll of the drum in one direction, and the mel- 
low tones of the bugle in another, announced the suffi- 
cient signal for repose. Weary with the long march 
of the day, the greater number were soon lulled into 
a slumber, as little restrained by thought as if all were 
free from danger and there were no enemy before them. 

But the guardian watchers had been carefully select- 
ed by their provident leader, and they slept not. The 


palatine himself was a sufficient eye over that slum 
Bering host. He was unwearied and wakeful. He 
could not be otherwise ; his thought kept busy note of 
the hours and of the responsibilities upon him. It is 
thus that the leading mind perpetually exhibits proofs 
of its immortality, maintaining the physical nature in 
its weaknesses, renewing its strength, feeding it with a 
fire that elevates its attributes, and almost secures it in 
immortality too. He knew his enemy, and suspecting 
his wiles, he prepared his own counter-stratagems. 
His arrangements were well devised, and he looked 
with impatience for the progress of the hours which 
were to bring about the result he now contemplated as 

It was early morning, some three hours before the 
dawn, and the gray squirrel had already begun to scat- 
ter the decayed branches from the tree-tops in which 
he built his nest, when the palatine roused his officers, 
and they in turn the men. They followed his bidding. 
In quick movement, and without noise, they were mar- 
shalled in little groups, leaving their blanket tents 
standing precisely as when they lay beneath them. 
Under their several leaders they were marched for- 
ward, in single or Indian file, through the copse which 
ran along on either side of their place of encampment. 
They were halted, just as they marched, with their 
tents some few hundred yards behind them. Here 
they were dispersed through the forest, at given inter- 
vals, each warrior having his bush or tree assigned 
him. Thus stationed, they were taught to be watch- 
ful and to await the movements of the enemy. 

The palatine had judged rightly. He was satisfied 
that the Yemassees would be unwilling to have the battle 
forced upon them at Pocota-ligo, exposing their women 
and children to the horrors of an indiscriminate fight. 
To avoid this, it was necessary that they should an- 
ticipate his approach to that place. The Salke-hatchie 
was the last natural barrier which they could well op- 
pose to his progress ; and the swamps and thick fast- 
nesses which marked the neighbourhood, indicated it 
well as the most fitting spot for Indian warfare. This 


was in the thought of the palatine not less than of 
Sanutee ; and in this lay one of the chief merits of the 
former as a captain. He thought for his enemy. He 
could not narrow his consideration of the game before 
him, to his own play ; and having determined what 
was good policy with his foe, he prepared his own t<? 
encounter it. 

Sanutee had been greatly aided in the progress of 
this war by the counsels of the celebrated Creek chief, 
Chigilli, who led a small band of the lower Creeks and 
Euchees in the insurrection. With his advice, he 
determined upon attacking the Carolinian army be- 
fore the dawn of the ensuing day. That night arranged 
their proceedings, and, undaunted by the communica- 
tion of his fate, revealed to him in the vision of Mati- 
wan, which, perhaps — with the subdued emotions 
of one who had survived his most absorbing affections 
— he was not unwilling to believe, he roused his war- 
riors at a sufficiently early hour, and they set forward, 
retracing their steps, and well prepared to surprise 
their enemy. The voice of the whippoorwill regu- 
lated their progress through the doubtful and dark 
night, and without interruption they went on for a mile 
or more, until their scouts brought them word that the 
yellow blankets of the whites glimmered through the 
shadows of the trees before them. With increased 
caution, therefore, advancing, they came to a point 
commanding a full view of the place of repose of* the 
Carolinian army. Here they halted, placing them- 
selves carefully in cover, and waiting for the earliest 
show of dawn in which to commence the attack by a 
deadly and universal fire upon the tents and their fly- 
ing inmates. In taking such a position, they placed 
themselves directly between the two divisions of the 
palatine's force, which, skirting the copse on either 
hand, stood in no less readiness than themselves, with 
their movement, to effect its own ; and when the 
savages advanced upon the unconscious camp, to come 
out upon their wings and rear, taking them at a vantage 
which must give a fatal defeat to their enterprise. 

It came at last, the day so long and patiently looked 


for by both parties. A faint gleam of light gushed 
through the trees, and a gray streak like a fine thread 
stole out upon the horizon. Then rose the cry, the 
fierce war-whoop of Yemassee and Creek ; " Sangar- 
rah-me, Sangarrah-me !" was the shout. Blood for the 
Yemassee, blood for the Cherokee, blood for the Creek 
— were the signals which, at a given moment, carried 
forward the thousand fierce and dusky warriors of the 
confederate nations upon the tents which they fondly 
imagined to contain their sleeping enemies. The 
shot penetrated the blankets in every direction — the 
arrows hurtled on all sides through the air, and, rapidly 
advancing with the first discharge, the Indians rushed 
to the tents, tomahawk in hand, to strike down the 
fugitives. In that moment, the sudden hurrah of the 
Carolinians, in their rear and on their sides, aroused 
them to a knowledge of that stratagem which had an- 
ticipated their own. The shot told fatally on their 
exposed persons, and a fearful account of victims 
came with the very first discharge of the sharp-shoot- 
ing foresters. Consternation, for a moment, followed 
the first consciousness which the Indians had of their 
predicament ; but desperation took the place of sur- 
prise. Sanutee and Chigilli led them in every point, 
and wherever the face of the foe could be seen. 
Their valour was desperate but cool, and European 
warfare has never shown a more determined spirit of 
bravery than was then manifested by the wild warriors 
of Yemassee, striking the last blow for the glory and 
the existence of their once mighty nation. Driven 
back on one side and another, they yet returned fiercely 
and fearlessly to the conflict, with a new strength and 
an exaggerated degree of fury. Chigilli, raging like 
one of his own forest panthers, fell, fighting, with his 
hand wreathed in the long hair of one of the borderers, 
whom he had grappled behind his tree, and for whose 
heart his knife was already flashing in the air. A 
random shot saved the borderer, by passing directly 
through the scull of the Indian. A howl of despairing 
vengeance went up from the tribe which he led as 
they beheld him fall ; and, rushing upon the sheltered 


whites, as they sought to reclaim his body, they ex- 
perienced the same fate to a man ! For two hours 
after this the fight raged recklessly and fierce. The 
Indians were superior in number to the Carolinians, 
but the surprise of their first assault was productive of 
a panic from which they never perfectly recovered. 
This was more than an off-set to any disparity of force 
originally ; and, as the position of the whites had been 
well taken, the Yemassees found it impossible in the 
end to force it. The rising sun beheld them broken — 
without concert — hopeless of all farther effort — flying 
in every direction ; shot down as they ran into the 
open grounds, and crushed by the servile auxiliaries 
of the whites as they sought for shelter in the cover 
of the woods, assigned, for this purpose, to the negroes. 

A brief distance apart from the melee — free from the 
flying crowd, as the point was more exposed to dan- 
ger — one spot of the field of battle rose into a slight 
elevation. A little group rested upon it, consisting of 
four persons. Two of them were Yemassee subordi- 
nates. One of these was already dead — from the 
bosom of the other in thick currents, freezing fast, the 
life was rapidly ebbing. He looked up as he expired, 
and his last broken words, in his own language, were 
those of homage and affection to the well-beloved of his 
people — the great chief, Sanutee. It was the face of 
the " well-beloved" upon which his glazed eyes were 
fixed, with an expression of admiration, indicative of the 
feeling of his whole people, and truly signifying that, 
of the dying Indian to the last. The old chief looked 
down on him encouragingly, as the warrior broke out 
into a start of song — the awful song of his dying. — 
The spirit parted with the effort, and Sanutee turned 
his eyes from the contemplation of the melancholy 
spectacle to the only living person beside him. 

That person was Matiwan. She hung over the 
well-beloved with an affection as purely true, as 
warmly strong, as the grief of her soul was speechless 
and tearless. Her hand pressed closely upon his 
side, from which the vital torrent was streaming fast ; 
and between them, in a low moaning strain, in the Ye- 


massee tongue, they bewailed the fortunes of their 

" The eye of Matiwan looked on, when the toma- 
hawk was red — when the knife had a wing. She saw 
Chigilli, the brave of the Creeks — she saw him strike ?" 
inquired the chief of the woman. 

" Matiwan saw." 

" Let the woman say of Sanutee, the well-beloved 
of Yemassee. Did Chigilli go before him? Was 
Sanutee a dog that runs ? Was the hatchet of a chief 
slow? Did the well-beloved strike at the pale-face 
as if the red eye of Opitchi-Manneyio had looked on 
him for a slave ?" 

" The well-beloved is the great brave of Yemassee. 
The other chiefs came after. Matiwan saw him 
strike like a chief, when the battle was thick with a 
rush, and the hatchet was deep in the head of a pale 
warrior. Look, oh, well-beloved — is not this the 
bullet of the white man ? The big knife is in the 
bosom of a chief, and the blood is like a rope on the 
fingers of Matiwan." 

" It is from the heart of Sanutee !" 

" Ah-cheray-me — ah-cheray-me !" groaned the wo- 
man, in savage lamentation, as she sunk down beside 
the old warrior, one arm now inclasping his already 
immoveable person. 

" It is good, Matiwan. The well-beloved has no 
people. The Yemassee has bones in the thick wood' 
and there are no young braves to sing the song of his 
glory. The Coosah-moray-te is on the bosom of the 
Yemassee, with the foot of the great bear of Apalatchie. 
He makes his bed in the old home of Pocota-ligo, like 
a fox that burrows in the hill-side. We may not drive 
him away. It is good for Sanutee to die with his peo- 
ple. Let the song of his dying be sung." 

" Ah-cheray-me — ah-cheray-me !" was the only re- 
sponse of the woman, as, but partially equal to the ef- 
fort, the chief began his song of many victories. 

But the pursuers were at hand, in the negroes, now 
scouring the field of battle with their huge clubs and 

Vol. II. 


hatchets, knocking upon the head all of the Indians 
who yet exhibited any signs of life. As wild almost as 
the savages, they luxuriated in a pursuit to them so 
very novel— they hurried over the fore-sts with a step as 
fleet, and a ferocity as dreadful — sparing none, wheth- 
er they fought or plead, and frequently inflicting the 
most unnecessary blows, even upon the dying and the 
dead. The eye of Matiwan, while watching the ex- 
piring blaze in that of the old warrior, discovered the 
approach of one of these sable enemies. She threw 
up her hand to arrest, or impede the blow, exclaiming, 
as she did so, the name of the chief she defended. He 
himself feebly strove to grasp the hatchet, which had 
sunk from his hands, to defend himself, or at least to 
strike the assailant ; but life had only clustered, that 
moment, in strength about his heart. The arm was 
palsied ; but the half-unclosing eye, which glowed 
wildly upon the black, and arrested his blow much 
more completely than the effort of Matiwan, attested 
the yet reluctant consciousness. Life went with the last 
effort, when, thinking only of the strife for his country, 
his lips parted feebly with the cry of battle — " Sangar- 
rah-me, Yemassee — Sangarrah-me — Sangarrah-me !" 

The eye was dim for ever. Looking no longer to the 
danger of the stroke from the club of the negro, Matiwan 
threw herself at length over the body, now doubly sa- 
cred to that childless woman. At that moment the 
lord palatine came up, in time to arrest the brutal blow 
of the servile which threatened her. 

" Matiwan," said the palatine, stooping to raise her 
from the body — " Matiwan, it is the chief ?" 

" Ah-cheray-me, ah-cheray-me, Sanutee — Ah-che- 
ray-me, ah-cheray-me, Yemassee !" 

She was unconscious of all things, as they bore her 
tenderly away, save that the Yemassee was no longer 
the great nation. She only felt that the " well-beloved," 
as well of herself as of her people, looked forth, 
with Occonestoga, wondering that she came not, from 
the Blessed Valley of the Good Manneyto. 






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